


Indescribable

by Viktuurious (Sourwoif)



Series: Orphans on Ice [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Also racism, Attempt at Humor, Because Russia, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Orphan!Yuuri, Slow Burn, Viktor being a dork, Yuuri being Eros and a dweeb simultaneously, alternative universe, equal parts fluff and drama, not as depressing as it looks lol, orphan!Viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 41,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourwoif/pseuds/Viktuurious
Summary: A story that begins in a St. Petersburg orphanage, following Viktor and Yuuri through their lives together. As they surpass their adolescence and enter adulthood, they must confront the inevitability of their changing relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:  
> This is part of a series and is part I.
> 
> Russia's culture isn't going to be ignored. The racism and homophobia mentioned is based off my own experiences with Russia. Some words such as yзкоглазый (narrow eyed), and петух (rooster) are used against people of color and gay men.
> 
>  
> 
> The age gap between Yuuri and Viktor is three years instead of four years (...mostly because I forgot it was four years until after I wrote this damn thing and I'm too lazy to redo all the ages/dates/etc).
> 
> The reason Yuuri is an orphan will be explored in other parts. For now, his relationship with Viktor and Russia in general will be the primary goal.
> 
> And if you find any grammar mistakes, it's because I'm blind and can only read over this thing so many times lmao. Help plz.

**Part I**

**_[December 10 th, 1997] Viktor: 8 years old Yuuri: 6 years old_ **

        

            The day Yuuri Katsuki became an orphan was carved into Viktor’s memory. A particularly vicious storm was raging outside, nature’s way of marking its place. The foundation of the orphanage moaned at them all miserably, like an animal begging to be put down. The creaks were commonplace music for them and Viktor ignored them as he pushed his knight into place. Across the chess board, Alec stared at the board in frustration.

            Viktor waited for the next move absentmindedly, attention mostly on the door that led to the orphanage lobby. The _полиция [cops]_ were here and that meant fresh meat. Whoever was unfortunate enough to be brought would be the favored scapegoat of every miscreant around. The chance to push their failures onto others was too valuable to pass up for the sake of “humanity” and “kindness”.

            Viktor had personally never dealt with their teasing. The first time someone had tried to steal his food he’d stabbed their arm with a fork. Granted, he’d only been four and lacked a comprehension for the degree of violence, but it got the point across.

            It wasn’t his business anyway. Better them than him. That being said, his head swiveled to the door along with the others when it opened. It was worse than he’d thought. He actually pitied the new orphan.

            The boy was _yзкоглазый [narrow eyed]_. The only thing worse than a new orphan, was an orphan who dared not to be Russian. The wide eyed stare hardly helped the kid’s status as prey. His tiny form shook with tremors. The caretaker whispered something to him before disappearing back into the lobby.

            The orphans were already inching in closer. For a moment, Viktor considered going back to his disappointing chess game with Alec. Then his eyes were caught and he couldn’t look away.

            There wasn’t a word or a sentence to describe the immediate connection. It felt silly to consider it as anything other than fact- that this boy wasn’t to be ignored. It wasn’t for any particular reason either. The boy looked like any other _yзкоглазый._ But there was _something_. Maybe it was in the eyes that looked out into the world with fearful determination.

            His feet moved on their own, faster than he could stop them. He stood in front of the foreign child (who looked to be barely six years old) and let his back block out the hyenas in waiting behind him.

            “ _Я Виктор. Как вас зовут?”_ He maintained the biggest smile he could, cheeks stinging. He was hardly prepared for the tears. It was, frankly, a ridiculous amount of tears. All he’d done was speak a little Russian and the kid was an overflowing faucet. Chubby cheeks were flushed red, nose scrunched up, lips twisted miserably- Viktor panicked only slightly (a lot) and looked around to see if there was any adult to help. While Viktor was distracted, the boy grew even more distraught. Arms clutched at his shirt and Viktor’s arms automatically went to the boy’s back in a hug.

            _What a crybaby_ , he thought fondly when the tears came to a stop a while later.

***

**_Seven Months Later_ **

**_[July 5 th, 1998] Viktor: 9 years old Yuuri: 6 years old_ **

            The large clock fixed to the back wall clicked loudly. It was past midnight, but Yuuri waited to make sure the snores reached their peak volume. He sat up, clutching his scratchy blanket to his chest. He still wasn’t used to the nights here.

            He missed his family, he missed Mari- he wanted more _katsudon_ \- he wanted a lot of things. He couldn’t say all the things he wanted. Yuuri’s Russian spilled out of his clumsy six-year old mouth like jagged glass that made others flinch. When the policemen had taken him and he begged to go _home,_ to Japan, they ignored him as one would a crying animal. And now he was here. He’d given up hope that his family would come after the first month.

            Viktor had held him tightly the moment the realization hit Yuuri.

            Yuuri inched out of his bed, flinched as cold hardwood shocked his bare feet. Someone had snatched his socks again. He shuffled forward nonetheless, focused on the lower bunk across the room. He came to a stop at the foot of the bed, staring at its occupant earnestly.

            A few seconds passed and Viktor’s eye cracked open blearily.  He gave an amused, albeit tired, huff and lifted his blanket. Yuuri smiled hesitantly before scrambling into the warm comfort offered to him. Strong arms wrapped around Yuuri and grounded him, anchored him down in the most calming way. He didn’t fall asleep right away, unlike Viktor, who started drooling almost immediately.

            He reached up and ran his fingers through the soft silver hair atop the other’s head, tensing when Viktor smacked his lips and leaned in closer. It was like having a personal angel- that was a thing, right? When the caretakers read the bible aloud they often spoke of guardian angels that protect their wards. That’s definitely what Viktor was.

            Although, angels don’t snore, do they? Maybe they did. That was okay, Viktor had nice snores. He had nice everything, which frustrated Yuuri at times. He could never be mad, though- Viktor did a good job of ruining his “perfect” image by throwing himself at Yuuri consistently. By now, Yuuri couldn’t help rolling his eyes whenever someone stared at the goofy Russian in awe of his “suave coolness”. Viktor had his moments, but not enough to erase that ridiculous smile, or the high pitched squeal in his voice when Yuuri managed to succeed at something (or just exist in general).

            He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Viktor and an overwhelming feeling of grateful contentedness. Yuuri dreamt of kind blue eyes and several pairs of socks, his mother’s lullaby danced through the air while he swam through warm waters.

            Usually, Yuuri was able to wake up right before everyone else. He’d sneak back to his bed while Viktor whined at him to come back, and then he’d pretend to wake up a second time when the caretakers walked past. This time, however, Viktor had clung extra hard and Yuuri’s heavy eyelids sealed shut.

            “ _Viktor Mikhaelovich- what do you think you’re doing?!”_

            Yuuri yelped as he was dragged out of the bed, held by the back of his pajamas and staring up at the furious caretaker. He made his body go limp and fervently prayed this humiliation end swiftly. The sweep of cold air that filled the bed roused Viktor as well, who simply rolled to the edge of the bed pathetically.

            “Yuuuuri,” He made grabby hands at the Japanese boy, pouting when the caretaker smacked at his hands. “Give him back, I’m cold.”

            “Leaving an empty bed all night- have you no shame? No guilt?” The man shook Yuuri slightly with one hand, glaring down at the two boys. “Every night we are filled to the brim with you all, and have no choice but to let homeless children wander outside- and you have the gall to just-“

            “Why not?” Viktor shrugged airily. “It’s not like it matters that much.” He stared at Yuuri, frowning at the rough treatment. His hand twitched, as if ready to reach forward and rip the young boy away. Yuuri shook his head frantically to dissuade him. It would only get them in more trouble (and Viktor’s sharp tongue did enough of that).

            “ _You little_ -“

            “S-Sir,” Yuuri blurted, causing the older man to halt his rant. He shivered when he was lowered to the floor, warm toes curling on the frigid floor. “What if bed- um. Give away?”

            “What?’

            “He’s offering his bed up- Oh, that’s a great idea Yuuri!” Viktor sat up with a flourish, pulling the smaller boy into a hug and grinning up at the bewildered adult. “Just give Yuuri’s bed away, he can sleep in mine all the time _and_ we can get one of those homeless kids you were talking about.”

            The caretaker looked exasperated already and it had only been a few minutes. “And what happens when Yuuri grows up and you don’t fit, hm?”

            “Then I’ll find us a bigger bed,” Viktor replied primly, his arms around Yuuri’s waist, keeping him in his lap. Yuuri stared up at him with wonder, Viktor was totally being _cool_. He felt a fanboy flutter in his chest. How was he talking to an adult like an adult? It was too wild.

            “With what money, boy?” The caretaker had lost all traces of amusement in the conversation, looking seconds from doling out a punishment.

            “I won’t need money to find one,” Viktor smiled serenely. “Yuuri, let’s go wash our faces.”

            Yuuri startled as he was nudged to stand, swiveling his head to look back at the caretaker as Viktor led him to the bathrooms.

            “Vikutoru!” He rambled excitedly, his Japanese accent rolling the other’s name out of his mouth, “So cool! _Sugoi dayo!_ ”

            Viktor preened in response, his chest puffing out.

            “I’m totally gonna have to do arithmetic today,” Viktor said cheerily, not the least bit bothered. Yuuri squeezed his hand, hanging his head.

            “I’m sorry, my fault.” If he’d just left on time, better yet, if he’d stayed in his own bed, Viktor wouldn’t be in trouble. And now all the other orphans and the caretakers knew that they were sharing.  They’d already received several sneers in the washroom. He’d ruined Viktor’s reputation. He was so useless. All he did was make Viktor’s life harder.

            “Yuuri?” Viktor gently tugged at the younger boy’s ear, making him look up. “I get cold, too. Thanks.”

            Sometimes Viktor was dorky, and sometimes he was a flippant airhead- but sometimes, he knew just what to say. Yuuri felt his shoulders sag with relief. He let go of Viktor’s hand to step onto the stool, splashing water onto his face and grabbing his respective toothbrush.

            He was just finishing up with a comb in his hair when something slammed into the back of his knees and he went toppling backwards. Viktor tried to grab for him, missing by a small margin.  Yuuri’s head cracked against the marble floor with a sharp sound. The boy that had done it looked smug for a few seconds, sneering something about “gays” and “roosters” but it was all a blur.

            He could only stare up at the ceiling blearily, trying to think through the pain. For some reason he couldn’t cry- which was amazing, he typically cried pretty easy. He sucked in a deep breath after a second, the sick feeling in his stomach easing up. The sound of yelling roused him from his daze and he sat up slowly. A few other boys were kneeling around him- older ones (the teenagers), helping him up. They spoke but it hurt to understand, so he just shook his head. That was a mistake- because the world was spinning and he nearly went back down.

            He looked at where everyone was focused. Viktor was uncharacteristically violent at the moment, raining down fists atop the boy who had been dim enough to attack Yuuri. He wasn’t stopping, and Yuuri could hear him snarling threats, and it was terrifying. Tears finally did boil over his cheeks, but not from the pain. It wasn’t fear either, he didn’t really know why. He just wanted Viktor to stop.

            “V-Vitya,” He sniffled quietly, and he was sure no one would hear his voice, lost in the chaos. But Viktor did. He jerked away from the boy on the ground and turned to Yuuri with fear in his eyes. Why was _Viktor_ scared?

            “My head hurts,” He said pitifully, because it did, but mostly because he wanted Viktor to stop what he was doing.

            Within seconds, the older boy was by his side. The teenagers stepped back to give them some room, and Yuuri ducked his head so Viktor could examine the back of it. Yuuri noticed the other’s hands were shaking.

 _His knuckles are bleeding_ , Yuuri thought faintly, _that’s not good._

            “You’re bleeding,” Viktor fretted, wiping his bloody hands on his pajama pants. “Let’s um, call the adults and-, and-“

            He was panicking more than ever. Conversely, Yuuri felt calm. He grabbed Viktor’s hands before they could reach for his head again, frowning up at him.

            “It’s okay,” He said softly. Viktor’s bottom lip wobbled and his eyes filled with tears. That was no good- Viktor was too pretty to cry.  He tried to reach for Yuuri again, but was pulled away by a caretaker. The boys dispersed and Yuuri lost track of time again. He ended up getting carried to the infirmary for a checkup by the adults.

            It was nothing more than the mildest of concussions, apparently. Either that or the nurse was too lazy to do any extra paperwork. Regardless, Yuuri was sentenced to bedrest and given reprieve from his daily chores and summer lessons.

            By afternoon he was getting restless. His head barely throbbed anymore and his back was getting sore from the prolonged naps. Viktor hadn’t been able to visit him yet, although he’d caught a glimpse of silver hair from the doorway before it disappeared. He was dozing off a fifth time when he felt someone poke his cheek.

            “Yuuri!” Viktor whispered in his ear, jolting him awake. Yuuri blinked rapidly, looking into the earnest blue eyes beside him. “Are you better yet?”

            All signs of previous distress were erased from Viktor’s face. The only evidence that the morning had happened at all was the puffed skin on his knuckles.

            “I’m better,” Yuuri mumbled, sitting up slowly, “and hungry.”

            Viktor looked pleased at the news, perking up especially at Yuuri’s mention of hunger. Yuuri never had much of an appetite, especially when he’d first arrived. The Russian cuisine had upset his stomach. Viktor had to actively shove food in his mouth to get him to eat, sometimes.

            “What a surprise, I happen to have lunch with me!” Viktor bent down, picking up the bowl he’d placed on the floor. “Sorry it’s so boring. They said you could only have _kasha_ ‘till we’re sure you won’t throw up.”

            “S’okay,” Yuuri took the bowl carefully, spooning a small bit of the tasteless porridge into his mouth. He sighed, homesick for Japan. Viktor watched him with rapt attention from his seat at the end of the bed.

            He was always there. Always ready to leap to Yuuri’s side. He’d ruined Yuuri’s attempt to be a recluse within the first week. Even so, Yuuri knew he was lucky to have been chosen by Viktor. It wasn’t like he had any redeeming qualities (nothing special enough to warrant attention from _Viktor_ ).  

            It took Yuuri a moment to realize Viktor had been talking to him for the last few minutes. He finished swallowing his spoonful, tilting his head at the other.

            “Sorry, what?”

            “Hey,” Viktor chastised, furrowing his brow, “don’t ignore me!”

            “I’m not. Food is just…so good,” Yuuri could barely keep his voice from wavering, and Viktor’s unamused face proved his lie was useless. “What?”

            “I was _saying_ that we should sneak out! I haven’t been to the ice rink in ages.” The excitement on Viktor’s face stifled any protests the younger boy was ready to spout. They didn’t get to do much of what Viktor wanted lately, and it would be wrong for Yuuri to disrupt the other’s schedule. And Viktor had ruined his perfect hands to get revenge. Ice skating was the least he could do.

            “Okay,” Yuuri managed, blushing when he was rewarded a tight hug for his easy acquiescence. Viktor was speaking too quickly for Yuuri to understand everything, but he was able to get the gist of it.

            “You shouldn’t worry about it. I’ve been there dozens of times. I’m pretty good, I can even do _jumps_.” Viktor had a smug look on his face, so Yuuri hazarded a guess that it was difficult to do jumps on ice.  He still hadn’t let go of Yuuri, and so the younger boy nodded slightly into Viktor’s chest to indicate he understood. He couldn’t hug back with the bowl of porridge in his lap (it didn’t make much of a difference, Viktor easily compensated by giving 200% hug effort).

            Eventually he was let go and given the freedom to finish eating (which was a shame, because that porridge was the blandest thing in the world). When it was time to sneak out, Viktor stopped Yuuri from putting on his shoes.

            “Why aren’t you wearing socks?”

            “Someone took.”

            “…So why didn’t you take someone else’s?” Yuuri stared at Viktor because… Well, he hadn’t thought of that. Viktor laughed to himself, walking over to another bunk and lifting the mattress. There were dozens of socks shoved under there. It wasn’t even Viktor’s bunk.

            “Why do they took so many sock?” Yuuri grumbled as Viktor handed him the cleanest pair he could find.

            “Why do they take so many socks,” Viktor corrected. “And it’s because they’re idiots that like to pretend socks are money. Just take them back whenever. No one will notice.”

 _Russians are odd people,_ Yuuri concluded. Or maybe it was just orphans that did this?

***

            Viktor could tell Yuuri was starting to worry. They’d been walking for longer than the ten minutes he’d promised, and now those brown eyes were shifting from side to side. He, personally, wasn’t too concerned. This was how he always got to the rink: mindless wandering that eventually led to the original destination.

            Yuuri didn’t share the same disposition. He’d asked Viktor where they were no less than twelve times now. Each time, he responded with the same thing.

            “Relax! We’re almost there.”

            They were certainly not almost there.

            Yuuri was starting to catch on, but Viktor maintained his easy calm. He waved to strangers, even took time to pet any dogs that were being walked, all while gripping Yuuri’s hand in his. He didn’t want the small boy to run off while Viktor got distracted (because Viktor was _always_ distracted).

            He was in the middle of accepting candy from some random grandma outside a café (because stranger danger never made sense to him, why say no to free candy?) when Yuuri’s hand became clammier. Viktor blinked down at the nervous boy, popping the sweet into his mouth, “What is it? She gave me two candies, we can share.”

            “I’m scared, Vitya.” Yuuri’s was so quiet he might as well have whispered it in a mosh pit. Viktor strained to hear him, but he always managed to somehow. He couldn’t help heaving a big sigh. Yuuri was the best: angel of the earth, amazing ball of purity and all things good- but he was so damn _anxious_. It was a wonder that the kid didn’t collapse on himself whenever he woke up.

            Maybe it was just a Yuuri thing, but he couldn’t understand it. What was there to be scared about? They weren’t _that_ far from the orphanage- and even if they were, what’s so bad about the streets? Plenty of animals and kids, even adults, lived on the streets. It wasn’t so bad. Plus, stars were beautiful and they’d be able to watch them all night if they weren’t at the orphanage. Honestly, the more Viktor thought about, the less scary getting lost seemed. For now, he’d just have to show Yuuri that it was all _fine_.

            “Don’t be a baby, Yuuratchka,” Viktor quirked an eyebrow, “We’ll find the rink eventually. Just enjoy the fresh air!”

            Ah. Shit. That had definitely not been the right thing to say. Yuuri looked like he’d been sucker punched. He’d even stopped walking, staring at Viktor like he was hell spawn. His peachy skin went sickly white and for a terrifying moment Viktor wondered if Yuuri was going to vomit on him. Then, he did something worse.

            Yuuri let out a wheezing breath that he’d been holding, and his eyes went impossibly large.  He struggled to breathe, and his hands were shaking so strongly that Viktor’s arm was shaking along with him. This was bad. The adults were starting to focus on them. Luckily, Viktor was quick on his feet and managed to pull them into a narrow alley. He knelt down with Yuuri, who had collapsed onto the dirty ground.

            How was he supposed to deal with a hyperventilating six year old? Viktor felt a frazzled pressure, and it forced him to act. He pulled Yuuri to him and began rocking. The lash marks on his back stung, a reminder of the many mistakes he’d managed in just one day. He’d let Yuuri get hurt, and now he’d hurt Yuuri. He hated himself all the more, almost wanted to go back and have a caretaker give him another beating.

            He had done this. He should have just _listened_. And now here they were, rocking together, with Yuuri in sobbing, breathless tears, and Viktor on the edge of the same thing. It was only his concern for Yuuri that kept Viktor from falling into a similar state.

            “I’m sorry, please stop- just breathe, don’t stop breathing,” Viktor whispered over and over. His stomach twisted. He’d just wanted to show Yuuri his favorite spot. He’d just wanted to apologize for that morning. “We can go back, we don’t have to go to the stupid ice rink.”

            Nothing he said affected Yuuri, who only cried harder until Viktor worried he’d weep out a lung with each wet drag of air. Minutes crawled by like days, Viktor clinging like a concerned limpet. When Yuuri’s breathing finally calmed, he lay against Viktor in a state of mental exhaustion.

            Viktor’s shirt was absolutely soaked with Yuuri’s tears and that was fine if it meant that the crying would stop. He peeled himself away from the other, shivering when the breeze hit his wet chest, “Let’s go back.”

            “No,” Yuuri stood up with as much determination as he could after crying his eyes out, “I want skate.”

            “I want _to_ skate,” Viktor corrected absentmindedly, brushing off dirt from Yuuri’s legs and back.

            “Yes, let’s go. I won’t cry.”

            He wanted to say no, because that’s what an adult would do. Yuuri was still on wobbly legs and he’d had a concussion this morning- he shouldn’t even be out of _bed_. But Yuuri was looking at him with such earnest eyes and Viktor would gladly walk into traffic if Yuuri asked him to with that insistent look (he wouldn’t though, because Yuuri would start crying again).

            “…Fine, if you promise you won’t,” Viktor mumbled as he straightened. Yuuri took his hand automatically.

            “I swear!” Yuuri furrowed his brow and stood straighter, emanating an aura of solemnity. Viktor couldn’t help cracking a smile.

***

            His stomach still felt funny when they’d made it to the ice rink. Yuuri hadn’t meant to ruin Viktor’s day so much, but he couldn’t help it. It was the worst feeling ever (crushing desperation and falling non-stop) and he didn’t want to relive it again. It felt like someone had wrapped their hands around his throat and squeezed over, and over, only letting him gasp in a breath enough to keep from fainting before resuming again. And Viktor had looked so sad after (and he shouldn’t ever be sad, because it’s _Viktor_ ).

            Yuuri made a noise of protest when Viktor pushed him onto a bench and started lacing up his skates. They’d gotten in free when Viktor had pulled the orphan card (“It’s okay to be pitied if you get free stuff!”).

            “I can do myself,” Yuuri frowned, blushing when Viktor giggled and finished tying a knot.

            “I know you can, but I want to, Yuuratchka,” Viktor hummed. He stood up confidently while helping Yuuri up as well. “You good?”

            He nodded, concentrating on inching to the rink with Viktor by his side. When they finally stopped onto the ice, it was like coming home. He remembered: Mari and Minako, even Yuuko, cheering him on as he tried to twirl and hop, catching him when he fell. He didn’t feel sad, oddly enough. He felt _joy_ , to feel that sense of family once again.

            Almost immediately a smile was plastered on his face as he skated around some more, Viktor watching him with a look akin to shock.

            “You’ve skated before!”

            “Yup.” Yuuri’s grin was contagious, and then Viktor was joining him. They spun together, their loud chattering filling the once quiet rink.

            “Look, look- I can do this thing,” Viktor skated away from Yuuri, who watched him eagerly. He sped up before pushing himself into the air and spinning twice, landing on one leg smoothly. Yuuri was awestruck, his mouth still plopped open when Viktor skated back over. “How was that? Awesome, right?”

            “How?!” Yuuri swung his hands up. “In the air! Spinning! _Sugoi!_ The coolest- I wanna do!”

            Viktor blushed and rubbed his neck as the younger boy showered him in praise. “I learned from watching some skaters, they hang out here sometimes. They can spin more times though. I think they called it an “axel” or something.”

            “You’re still best,” Yuuri stated.

            “No, but I’ll be the best,” Viktor smirked, bolstered by Yuuri’s effective praise.

            “Teach me, please?” He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Viktor skating, not even the cherry blossoms blooming could compare to it. He couldn’t help sighing, “You’re so pretty.”

            Viktor had been in the middle of agreeing to teach the other before turning bright red. He sputtered, “Y-Yuuri! Don’t say things like that.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m a _boy_ , I’m handsome.”

            “Yes,” Yuuri agreed, “and pretty.”

            “No- just handsome.”

            “And pretty.”

            “I can’t be _both_ ,” Viktor muttered. He did a small figure eight to avoid looking at Yuuri’s placid expression.

            “Why?” Yuuri drew closer to Viktor, grabbing his hand. “I think you’re both.”

            And that was that. It was thrilling to cause the blush on the Russian’s cheeks. Viktor swallowed his protest and mumbled, “Okay, fine.”

            “Now teach me!” Yuuri demanded, giddy with excitement.

            He was still excited after falling ten times, motivated by Viktor’s claps and praises (never once crying either. Viktor looked really happy about that). When the sun began to set, and it was time to sneak back, he watched Viktor kneel down to undo Yuuri’s skates.

            “Vitya,” He started, continuing when Viktor made an inquisitive noise, “We’ll skate together?”

            “Of course.”

            “Forever?”

            “I’ll stay with you,” Viktor stood up and held Yuuri’s hand, “for as long as I can.”

***

 

**_Six Months Later_ **

**_[January 15 th, 1999] Viktor: 10 years old Yuuri: 7 years old_ **

            “You cheated,” Viktor accused petulantly, staring at the chess board between the two of them. His name was _Viktor_ , not _Loser_. He did not just lose to a seven year old.

            Yuuri looked bashfully pleased. “How do you even cheat at chess?”

            “I don’t know, but you did it,” Viktor mumbled. In truth, He wasn’t all that beat up about it. He just liked it when Yuuri comforted him. As if on cue, the smaller boy reached over and ran a hand down Viktor’s face in a patronizing pet. It was shameful how happy it made him to receive the affection. There was no point in trying to hide it anyway (why would he even try? Yuuri’s affection was holy).

            “I’m sorry I beat you, you’re just terrible,” Yuuri said bluntly. Viktor’s offended gasp sent him into peals of laughter, rocking back into his chair.  Yuuri’s personality had certainly opened up- and usually at Viktor’s expense (always teasing, never serious. Even if it was serious, Viktor would gladly take that abuse just to keep the boy happy).

            “You’re so mean!” Viktor whined, draping his body onto the rickety table and knocking over the chess pieces. He ignored the Knight digging into his cheek and continued his wallowing. “You hurt my feelings. All of them.”

            “You’re hurting the table being so dramatic, get off,” Yuuri shooed at him.

            “When did this happen? I teach him all my tricks and he pulls this? Yuuri is so cruel, merciless, a true-“

            He rolled his eyes, but the amused look on his face gave him away. “Stop it, Vitya, we can play another game.”

            “So you can cheat again? I think not.” Viktor slid off the table and brushed his shirt off while Yuuri quickly cleaned up his mess.

            “You’re just a sore loser,” Yuuri stuck out his tongue, dodging when Viktor swatted at him half-heartedly.

            Viktor helped Yuuri put away the chess pieces, musing on the Japanese boy’s growth as he did. He hadn’t even noticed Yuuri getting taller, standing at Viktor’s chin without strain. His Russian had improved exponentially too- he was as fluent as any of them were. When classes ended and it was too cold to play outside, Yuuri would teach him phrases in Japanese now. It was with limited knowledge, but it was like a secret code to use amongst the other orphans. Sometimes they’d hide under the covers at night and whisper random sentences in choppy Japanese (“ _Your pants are hungry.” “The bed laughs weird.” “Your forehead is huge.” “Yuuri!”)._

            Yuuri tugged on his shirt, urging him to look at something. Viktor followed the direction of his gaze. There were two strangers that looked vaguely familiar at the front door, a caretaker standing next to them timidly. They were imposing figures, both rising above the children like skyscrapers. They had matching severe expressions, lips permanently downturned. Viktor felt the need to straighten from their narrowed eyes alone.

            They were searching for something. Viktor felt dread when their eyes locked onto him. He’d fought off three adoptions in the past year, there was no way he’d let them take him now. He couldn’t leave behind Yuuri.

            Said young boy had a death grip on his shirt, watching the couple walk towards them. They didn’t spare him a glance, not that anyone ever did. He was an East Asian at a Russian orphanage, the least demanded product possible. He knew to tuck himself behind Viktor at these times (the silver haired Russian was vicious when running off adopters).

            The couple came to a stop a few feet from Viktor, giving him a chance to examine them. Their thick coats and clean boots denoted some sort of wealth, which was unsurprising. Adoption wasn’t a poor man’s hobby. From the current angle, he could tell the woman was the sort to keep her nose up and the man’s brows were always down in a scowl. He resisted the urge to offer them an iron to flatten out the etched wrinkles on their faces.

            Viktor knew they wanted him. They weren’t here to decide, they were here to negotiate. And that was something he knew how to do.

            “This is him,” The man muttered gruffly to the woman. Viktor felt preemptive irritation flare. How dare they ignore him? Ignore Yuuri? As if they were better than him in any way. He suppressed the need to act out. Something about this situation was different from the others. The man stared at Viktor. “You skate at the rink?”

            “What?” He was thrown.

            “The rink, do you skate there?” The man repeated impatiently.

            “No… _We_ skate at the rink,” Viktor responded after a beat. He pushed Yuuri forward to his side, ignoring the frantic look he received from the small boy.

            The couple looked at one another, a silent conversation between them. The woman spoke now, her voice sharp. “If you come with us now, you will never want for anything.”

            Viktor wanted to hiss at them, to ward them off, to say _no_. But the offer had weight to it. _Anything I want?_ He thought to himself, _I do want a lot of things._ The other couples hadn’t been so upfront. They’d wanted to give him _family_ , which meant nothing to him. All the other things- he’d like those. He’d like them for Yuuri as well, and he couldn’t give that to him in this orphanage. He made a contemplative noise, and Yuuri tugged at him, concern in his eyes. Viktor smiled at him reassuringly before turning back to the pair.

            “I never plan on being adopted,” He retorted, watching the man’s lips purse before adding on, “but I’ll make an exception if you take us both.”

            “Both?” The man looked down at Yuuri with displeasure. “This boy?”

            “He’s a great skater, too,” Viktor gave Yuuri’s back a pat. “Since that’s why you want me, I’m guessing. My skating.”

            The woman made an impressed noise, crossing her arms. “You’re smarter than you look.”

 _This underfunded orphanage has the best quality public education! Would you like to see me add? I only need to use one foot to count to twenty now._ Viktor held back the snide remark. _This is for Yuuri_ , he reminded himself.

            “Only a little,” Viktor’s grin was only a step behind bared teeth. “Do we have a deal?”

            The man knelt in front of instead Yuuri, who stiffened immediately. He offered a hand to the Japanese boy. “You speak Russian?”

            “Y-yes?” Yuuri stared at the large hand offered to him in confusion.

            “Do we have a deal?” The man was surprisingly patient with the smaller boy, watching the realization dawn.

            “Yes!” He shook with both hands, looking to Viktor in time to see the nod of approval.

            The man cracked a small smile, standing up to rejoin his wife. “We’ll pick you up in a few days.”

            “See you then,” Viktor slapped on his most charming smile, a hand resting on Yuuri’s shoulder. The couple left as quickly as they appeared. His hands had a tremor. He always got an adrenaline rush whenever dealing with prospective parents- but this was a whole new level.

            “Vitya,” Yuuri’s voice shook as he spoke, “are we…?”

            “Adopted? Yup!” He bit his tongue on accident getting the words out. Yuuri wasn’t in any place to judge him for losing composure though.

***

            The man (whose name was Yakov) was true to his word and showed up three days later. The adoption process took _months_. Viktor had kept it from Yuuri, but something told him that the couple had adopted him before they’d come to ask- they could have taken him just as easily. They hadn’t, strangely enough. Instead they humored his outrageous demands and bartered with him like he had any pull at all.

            They’d gotten pretty lucky with these adults.

            Yuuri was busy fiddling with his small sack of clothes, and Viktor adjusted his identical pack quietly. The caretakers were having a final conversation with Yakov while the boys waited by the front doors. They were in open view of everyone else. It was a wonder they didn’t melt from the envious glares they were receiving.

            “They’re just jealous,” Viktor reassured Yuuri. The boy looked up at Viktor before hiding his face in the other’s upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

            “What if they don’t want me? I’m not as good as you,” Yuuri whispered. “What if they take me back?”

            “They can’t do that, it’s against the law,” Viktor replied flippantly, wrapping his arm around Yuuri. It was a lie but it was what Yuuri needed to hear, relaxing marginally. “We’re going to live in a mansion, y’know? With _candy_ , and television, and we’ll get to skate whenever we want.”

            “Yeah?” Yuuri always looked interested, even though Viktor had been saying similar things for days now. “And a pair of socks?”

            Viktor grinned at the running joke, “Yeah, maybe even _two_ pairs of socks!”

            “That’s just too many,” Yuuri replied somberly, maintaining the serious expression for a second longer before they dissolved into laughter.

            Yakov returned to teary eyes and flushed cheeks, surprised to see it was from joy. He didn’t mention anything, however, simply herding the boys into the car. It was a quick process, no one wanted to waste time lingering.

            They buckled in, everything becoming all too real. Viktor felt his eyes stinging with tears and he looked out the window. The orphanage disappeared with a single turn. It was pretty anticlimactic. He’d been hoping for a riot or two, maybe a mob of children filing out in envy. For the last few days, he dreamt of caretakers locking up Yuuri and sending Viktor away by force. Sometimes Yuuri would be taken and leave behind Viktor (but that wasn’t as bad, because Yuuri deserved a chance, more than Viktor did).He felt a hand grasp his and looked over at the other boy, who watched him with pure earnest faith.

            “ _Davai_ ,” Yuuri whispered.

            “ _Gambatte,_ ” Viktor replied.

***

 

**_Two Years Later_ **

**_[June 31 st, 2001] Viktor: 12 years old Yuuri: 9 years old_ **

            “Less fun, more training!” Viktor barked in a perfect imitation of Yakov’s demeanor. “Are you smiling?! No smiling! Only anger, aarrrgh! I haven’t pooped in twenty years.”

            Yuuri couldn’t breathe, he was crying from the sheer force of his laughter. His lungs burned but Viktor had no mercy, stomping around like an irritated gorilla. He had to suck in air like a drowning man for the few seconds of pause between guffaws.

            “How dare you laugh?” Viktor cried, beating his chest. “Your joy pains me, ugh.” He collapsed next to the rolling nine-year-old. “I am vanquished,” He wheezed before feigning death dramatically.

            “I can’t breathe- I’m gonna pee!” Yuuri screeched, clutching his stomach. His muscles were starting to hurt, these Yakov impressions always left him sore. His inability to stop laughing then sent _Viktor_ into a fit and then they kept setting each other off every few seconds.

            It took a while before they finally calmed down. Yuuri had to massage his sore cheeks, Viktor doing the same for his abdominal muscles. They stared at one another in comfortable exhaustion, Viktor rolling to his side to mimic Yuuri’s position. Viktor’s skin was a mottled red and his hair was a complete mess. Their homework lay forgotten in the distant corner, shoved aside in favor of some well needed humor. They still had two hours before Lilia and Yakov would be home, Yuuri was sure of it. The older skaters had late night conditioning to do for the upcoming competitions.

            A commercial came on the TV and a man yelled in a jarringly loud voice, jolting Yuuri from his thoughts. He leveled a glare at the screen (inadvertently copying one of Lilia’s irritated expressions). Viktor snickered and poked the other’s plump cheek to get his attention. Yuuri startled once more, looking back at Viktor and swatting his hand away.

            “What’s with the face?” Yuuri mumbled, unsure how to characterize the exceedingly fond look on the older boy’s face.

            “Just thinking,” Viktor chirped, the goofy smile still on his face.

            “…About?”

            “You.”

            The candid response sent an embarrassed ripple through Yuuri’s body. He rolled onto his stomach and hid his face in crossed arms. “You’re so weird.”

            And Viktor _was_ weird, he would say things that would send other kids to the hospital with heart palpitations (other kids being Yuuri). He never cared either, just let his thoughts flow like a waterfall. Yuuri was more of a rusty spigot found in an abandoned village, constantly sputtering and requiring intense coaxing before any substance came forth. 

            Viktor had no concept of personal space either, hence Yuuri currently squawking as a heavy weight flopped on top of him. He wriggled pitifully, unable to push off the taller boy, “Vityaaa, you’re so fat,” Yuuri whined. “Get off!”

            “I was going to, but you just called me fat,” Viktor huffed, getting comfortable and resting his chin on the back of a shoulder. Yuuri knew he wasn’t offended, it was well established that Viktor could eat every food in the world and stay ridiculously thin. He was simply being an ass. “I don’t know if I can forgive you!”

            Yuuri attempted to buck him off and failed immediately. He gave up and went limp, face smooshed into the carpet. “What do you want now?”

            “Mm…” Viktor leaned up a little to press a finger to his lips, “I’d like something you’ve never given anyone before!”

            “…Um? My action figures?” He asked hesitantly. He already shared those with Viktor whenever he wanted.

            “No, I think I’d like something better. Your love, maybe.” Yuuri could practically see Viktor’s smug grin and rolled his eyes.

            “You need to stop watching those soap operas with Yakov, they’re terrible,” Yuuri sighed.

            “C’moooon, just say it,” Viktor poked Yuuri’s cheek, “let me be the first person you love.”

            “But you’re not,” Yuuri muttered, biting his lip to stifle a giggle at Viktor’s offended gasp.

            “What? Who? I’m better than them, right?” Viktor had a death grip on his shoulders now, borderline manic. The sting helped keep Yuuri from laughing at Viktor’s jealousy.

             “When I was really little I had a crush on a girl named Yuuko,” He explained, “I think she’s technically my first love.”

            “But I’m _better_ , right?” Viktor sat up, nudging the other to roll over and look up at him. Yuuri smiled, nose crinkling as he laughed affectionately.

            “Of course, Vitya. You’re the best,” He promised. It eased the tension from the older boy’s shoulders, but there was still an expectant expression on Viktor’s face. _Oh_. “You still want me to say it?”

            “Well, _yeah_ ,” Viktor huffed in exasperation. “Especially after what you just put me through.”

            “It wasn’t that bad,” Yuuri glanced away, stalling.

            “Yuuuuuri,” Viktor leaned over him, face only inches away, “Say it.”

            “I…ah,” His tongue felt heavy, like it had stage fright. They were best friends, of course he loved Viktor. So why was it so hard to say? “Um.”

            “Yeah?” Viktor eagerly pressed a hand to Yuuri’s chest. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks flushed, and Yuuri idly wondered if that’s what people were meant to look like when they were loved. Mari never looked like that, neither had his mother. _I don’t think this is the same love_ , Yuuri thought to himself right as the front door slammed open.

            They jumped apart quickly, Yuuri rolling like a downhill log and Viktor throwing himself at the homework several feet away. They weren’t quick enough if Yakov’s scowl was anything to go by.

            “That homework better be done by dinner,” He warned as he made his way to his study. It was his haven outside of practice, other than the living room. Viktor kept staring at Yuuri with flushed cheeks instead of heckling the coach for returning early.

            The two boys avoided eye contact once Yakov was gone. They shuffled through their respective papers and focused on the task at hand. Lilia had no issue with making them eat unseasoned chicken breast as punishment.

            “I do,” Yuuri said hours later while curled up in Viktor’s bed.

            “Do what?” Viktor’s breath tickled his nose and he tucked his chin in tighter.

            “Love you,” Yuuri clarified. The confession tumbled out clumsily (but he could breathe now). Viktor’s arm tightened around his waist.

            “I love you, too.”

            Neither understood what kind of love it was. They weren’t brothers, weren’t companions, or even lovers. It seemed useless to categorize their words. For now, the depth of their love would transcend the shallow bonds legally placed upon them until they could realize its full potential.

***

 

 

**_Five Years Later_ **

**_[January 15 th, 2003] Viktor: 15 years old Yuuri: 12 years old_ **

            “If you two don’t stop playing around…” The threat hung in the air while Yakov fumed from outside the rink. Yuuri immediately stopped chasing after Viktor, looking at the coach apologetically as he skated to his respective side of the rink. Viktor remained where he was, launching into complaints.

            “We were practicing!” Viktor protested. He was unfazed by Yakov’s irritated growl.

            “Playing tag is not practice.”

            “It’s conditioning!” Yuuri piped up, looking the other way when Yakov shot him a look.

            “Five triple Salchows- now!” Yakov barked, “Yuuri, downgrade to doubles.”

            They complied reluctantly. They’d been practicing for _hours_ already; they hardly had any time for each other nowadays. Granted, Viktor was prepping for his senior debut and Yuuri for his junior (he still had a year to go). Yuuri was grateful they weren’t separated into different lessons again.

            That had been a disaster. Yuuri handed off to Lilia for ballet and Yakov taking Viktor. Their practice times never coincided- they’d only caught glimpses of each other at night before bed. It had been _horrid_ and lonely and nightmare material. Yuuri had even thrown his first true tantrum (Yakov nearly had a heart attack when the quiet boy started bawling). Separate practice times were now the ultimate punishment.

            Which Yakov seemed a few seconds close to inciting if they didn’t shape up. Yuuri finished his less difficult Salchows before Viktor and opted to watch the teenager finish. When Viktor caught sight of Yuuri watching him, he winked and began playing up his last one. Yakov gave a pained sigh as Viktor swiveled and twizzled across the rink like a flamboyant fairy.

            “Viktor!” He barked. “Finish it and start on your short program, you damn…” He trailed off into a series of curses. Yuuri smiled at the exasperated sigh that escaped the silver haired teen before he leapt into his final triple Salchow.

            “You’re too stressed, Yakov,” Viktor chastised. “Did you take your blood pressure medication? You’re looking red.”

            “I’m _red_ because you’re driving me insane!” The coach exploded, waving around his clipboard. “Start PRACTICING!”

            “You just have to ask,” Viktor grinned, ducking when Yakov looked ready to throw his clipboard at his head. He calmed down quickly (like always). His face took a serious edge as he began his routine.

            Yuuri couldn’t tear his eyes away. Viktor’s theme for his debut was _Awakening_ and his short program used a unique piece crafted with classical and contemporary orchestral support. Viktor jerked out of his emerging pose to whip around the rink with building energy. Yuuri gulped as the inhuman being before him danced. And Viktor _was_ inhuman (angelic or monstrous, depending on who you asked). His flowing silver tresses were a red herring to the raw strength coursing through his lithe body.

            He could skate with grace of the heavens, beautiful and captivating. When he would fly into the air it would be with smooth comfort- hardly more than a natural step to him. But Yuuri knew what it took; he knew how difficult it was to force a body into the air _spinning_. It made Viktor all the more amazing. It was why the teen was the rising star of Russia, after all. He’d won the attention of the world with his bright, heart shaped smile and his charismatic personality. And Yuuri could only watch and support because Viktor was moving on to bigger and better things. Moving on from Yuuri.

            Viktor fought against the natural process. Yuuri wasn’t sure how, but the flamboyant Russian went to extreme measures to keep him by his side. These measures included, but were not limited to: threatening to leap out of the car if Yakov didn’t buy Yuuri a ticket to Viktor’s Grand Pris performance, passing out flyers of Yuuri’s face covered in hearts (to combat the bullying Yuuri experienced at school), and refusing to go _anywhere_ without forcing the younger boy to come along.

            In truth, it got to be exhausting. Viktor was a popular kid who was invited to countless outtings. And Yuuri (not nearly as popular) was an introvert with a guilt-complex that kept him from saying no to Viktor’s shining ocean eyes. This resulted in Yuuri silently lurking while Viktor took the city by storm with his friends more often than not. It was difficult to not leave, but Viktor’s constant peeks to make sure Yuuri was having fun kept the young Japanese boy from escaping.

            That was who Viktor was, though. He was a bright star that defied all laws and barreled through life, blasting past slower meteors like Yuuri. That’s what this program was, a representation of Viktor becoming who he would be for the years to come. And Yuuri could only watch from the sidelines and hope his cheers were loud enough, that his love was strong enough.

            Viktor was done, looking at him expectantly. He’d been done for a minute now and Yuuri hadn’t noticed. It snapped him out of his daze and he began clapping his hands rapidly.

            “ _Sugoi_ , Vitya!” He gushed, not noticing the relief in Viktor’s face. Yakov let the applause continue for a second longer before launching into a thorough critique.

            Viktor nodded vaguely as Yakov went on and on, eyes still on the other boy. Yuuri flushed from the intense stare and turned away, practicing his own program with much less grandeur.

            Yuuri knew, objectively, that he wasn’t a bad skater. But when practicing on the same ice as Viktor and the other Russian skaters he felt insignificant. During their group trainings he was given the least difficult jumps, spending more of his time on outdated figures and step sequences. He placed at most of the regional competitions, but that was nothing. His scores were low compared to what Viktor was achieving at his age and it gnawed at him.

            He took his frustrations out in ballet. The wood floors were more forgiving of his stumbles than the ice, and it translated to extra hours spent there. Viktor typically tapped out after the second hour of training with Lilia. Her rigid tutelage didn’t do well with Viktor’s airheaded talent, and unlike Yakov, her anger was _terrifying_ (she never took it out on Yuuri for some reason).

            Yakov was nudging Viktor off into a second run through when Yuuri finished his short program. He watched Viktor for a few seconds before stepping off the ice. Yakov wouldn’t have time for him today anyway, Viktor’s debut took precedence. It would be better to go practice solo at the ballet studio.

            He didn’t notice Viktor faltering in his step sequence, lips pursed at Yuuri’s sudden departure.

***

            Despite their assumptions as children, Viktor and Yuuri didn’t share a bed every night. After their respective growth spurts it was obvious that separate beds weren’t the enemy. Yuuri liked to be swaddled in a cocoon of warmth, and Viktor could sleep on a rock if necessary. This translated to how they slept as well, with Yuuri tossing about and Viktor a widespread log that clung tightly. These habits gradually decreased their sleepovers, which were now used for days that could be categorized as “shitty”. The rule for shitty day sleepovers was simple: don’t ask _why_ it’s shitty day sleepover time, just lift the blanket.

            Usually it was Yuuri that initiated it. It wasn’t that he had that many more bad days than the other, Viktor just had a habit of sliding into Yuuri’s bed with no warning in the middle of the night (which led to Yuuri freaking out in the morning when he woke up to Viktor’s obnoxious snores and gaping maw in his face). So, Yuuri took it upon himself to notice both of their shitty sleepover days now, getting into Viktor’s bed before the teen could terrify Yuuri once more.

            Currently, it was a rare occurrence when both of them were having a shitty sleepover day. Viktor was staring at his food somberly and Yuuri was eating like a bird, which meant that Yuuri’s bed would go unused for the night. Lilia and Yakov hardly cared enough to track their sleeping habits, so it went by largely unnoticed.

            When the hallway light went out that night and the required fifteen minutes passed without issue, Yuuri snuck out of his room. He crept into Viktor’s and slowly shut the heavy door behind him. Viktor wasn’t asleep yet, staring at the ceiling. He looked relieved (he always looked relieved) to see Yuuri there, as if Viktor was any good at hiding his misery.

            He was expected based on the pile of blankets and pillows at Viktor’s feet. The silver haired teen was more transparent than he realized. They didn’t talk when Yuuri rolled into the bed and Viktor wrapped his arms around him. He nuzzled into the older boy’s collar bone and basked in the sound of their quiet breathing. He could feel Viktor’s lips against his temple, his eyes shut in response, and the tension of the day ebbed away.

            “I’m glad you’re here.” Was all that was said for the rest of the night. It didn’t matter who said it, it was a mutual thought.

***

            Morning came sooner than Yuuri would have liked. His internal clock urged his eyes open just shy of six in the morning and he groaned. It was still quiet in the house. Yuuri chest slowly expanded into an all stretching yawn, and he felt his jaw pop. That was a _damn_ good night of sleep. He’d somehow managed to turn his back to Viktor, but the other’s deadweight arms were still wrapped around him.  He shifted and paused when he felt something poking at him.

            “Vitya, get your knee out of my back,” Yuuri grunted, swatting behind him without looking. He squawked when he was unceremoniously shoved off the bed by Viktor’s flailing limbs, ears ringing with the undignified yelp that had echoed through the room a second earlier. Yuuri hit the floor with a dull _thunk!_ “What’s wrong with you?!”

            “I should be saying that,” Viktor hissed. Yuuri peeked over the edge of the bed to glare at him, startling when he realized that Viktor was cupping his groin defensively.

_OH._

“Not knee. Um,” Yuuri stuttered eloquently, skin flaming with shame, “…Sorrybye.” He fled the room like his ass was on fire, leaving with Viktor’s mortified face etched into his brain.

            Yakov barely had time to sidestep the speeding bullet that was Yuuri, blinking after him in confusion.

            “Where the hell is that speed during conditioning?” He grunted.

***

            “Yuura, would you like more eggs?” Lilia asked primly, her thin eyebrow quirking at Yuuri’s stiffened posture.

            “No, thank you,” Yuuri mumbled miserably. His eyes hadn’t left the untouched plate in front of him since the start of breakfast.  Lilia and Yakov exchanged a look at the behavior. Viktor wasn’t much better off.

            “Then, Vitenka, would you like some sausage?”

            Viktor responded with an abysmal noise that startled Yakov and made him drop his piece of bread. He glared at the teenager, who only sunk into his seat.

            “What is wrong with you both now?” He snapped.

            “Nothing!” Yuuri managed, nearly shouting. He stood up quickly and rushed to counter to wrap his plate and shove it in the fridge for later. His foot was out the door before anyone could open their mouth. “Going to class early, bye!”

            Viktor stared at the door. Yuuri _never_ left without him, not even when Viktor was sick or they were fighting, or the world was possibly ending. Viktor proceeded to spiral into despair.

 _He hates me_ , Viktor lamented, eyes stinging, _six years of friendship ruined by a misplaced penis._

            No.

            He couldn’t let it go down this way. Their friendship was stronger than this- he had to catch Yuuri.

            Viktor stood up with a clatter, ignoring the pointed frown directed his way by Lilia. He muttered something about going to class as well before fleeing.

            “I thought they were on winter break?” Yakov questioned as the door slammed shut behind Viktor.

            “They are,” Lilia shook her head with a sigh. Boys: never thinking with the head between their ears.

***

            “Yuuri!” Viktor called breathlessly, cursing the younger boy’s extensive stamina. Even his longer legs were having trouble keeping up. “Please!” He wasn’t particularly proud of his voice cracking, but it could be blamed on puberty. Frankly, this whole situation could be blamed on puberty.

            He nearly ran over the Japanese boy when he came to a sudden stop. They were both panting and shivering in the cold morning air (they’d forgotten their coats like idiots).

            Yuuri turned to Viktor slowly, glancing up at him cautiously. Viktor clenched his fists to resist the need to touch and soothe him. “Yuuri, I-…”

_Didn’t mean to pop a boner._

            No, too blunt.

_Can’t help it!_

            That was worse.

_Dream weird things about my best friend who is younger than me and I’m gross._

            Okay, obviously Viktor couldn’t depend on his brain to supply valid apologies.

            “Sorry. I’m sorry,” Viktor finally managed. He probably looked all sorts of constipated right now. Constipated with _feelings_.

            “Sorry about what?” Yuuri asked. He seemed calm, but Viktor knew better. The patented Crazy Eyes ™ of Yuuri Katsuki were making an appearance, the “I don’t know how to deal with this situation so I’m about to lose it” edition.

            “You know, this morning.” He had to be _very careful_.

            “What morning?” Yuuri blurted, a nervous laugh joining the words. Viktor blinked owlishly.

            “…What? Literally one hour ago you woke up with my- mmf!” Viktor jolted as Yuuri slapped two frigid, clammy hands over his mouth. He glared at the twelve year old but didn’t slap them away (even if clammy hands were the _worst_ ).

            “I have _no idea what you’re talking about_ ,” Yuuri furiously whispered the last part, glancing around him nervously. Oh, right. They were in public and this was getting very gay. They had to talk about it eventually, right? Although, with Yuuri looking two words from a meltdown, maybe not.

            It was one of life’s ongoing struggles: combatting Yuuri’s anxiety. It liked to pop out at the worst of times like an inconvenient gremlin, gnashing its teeth at Viktor, taunting him of all the ways he couldn’t help. If it were possible he’d punt the fucker into the atmosphere, but instead he had to fumble through it clumsily (Viktor liked to pretend he got better with it each time, but it was usually random luck). Currently, Viktor didn’t feel very lucky. He briefly wondered if he’d shattered any mirrors with his good looks lately, it would explain this turn of events.

            Not to mention that they were _both_ guilty of overreacting all the damn time. Viktor was self-aware enough to admit he could have been an actor with his penchant for melodrama. Yuuri actually had a valid excuse for his meltdowns, while Viktor just blew everything out of proportion. For god’s sake, it was just a _boner_. Had it been any of his middle school friends during a sleepover, Viktor would have made a crude joke about their mom and they’d laugh it off. But this was _Yuuri (_ and it’s established that he, Viktor, loses all sense when Yuuri is involved), and their dynamic was different. They weren’t just _friends_ , definitely not _brothers_ \- they were… just, Yuuri and Viktor. Everything and nothing at once, which made it difficult to properly react to a situation as simple as this.

            Another second passed by. He could smell the sweat of Yuuri’s hands. If it had been anyone else he would have been thoroughly repulsed, but Yuuri could be vomiting everywhere and Viktor would still see him as a blessing (it was true because it already happened:  Stomach Flu of ’02.). He acted without thinking and obnoxiously licked a wet stripe up the palm on his mouth. Both hands jerked away immediately.

            “That’s disgusting!” Yuuri recoiled, lip curling at his now saliva covered hand, nose wrinkling. He wiped his hand on his shirt furiously, telltale blush rising to his face like clockwork. Viktor stuck out his tongue at him.

            “That was _way_ too salty. I’m telling Yakov to cut your sodium intake,” He teased, barely dodging the swat sent his way. He’d done his job correctly, though. Yuuri’s breathing had slowed to an even rhythm.  Something transpired then that soothed the worst of Viktor’s worries. Yuuri gazed at him fondly (he’d only seen that look in movies, always wondered how any human could fit that many  emotions in two eyes).

            “Thanks,” Yuuri murmured, haphazardly checking to make sure no one was around. Viktor was about to ask what was wrong when Yuuri stepped forward and pulled the him into a tight hug.

            Viktor froze as warmth seeped into his thin clothes. His arms were already around Yuuri (they never waited around for Viktor’s reaction time anymore). They stood there as eternity passed them, not speaking, not thinking, _breathing_.

            A car sped passed on the road nearby and the moment was gone.

            “Vitya?” Yuuri spoke softly, face smooshed into Viktor’s chest.

            “Mm?”

            “I’m really fucking cold.” The unorthodox cursing caused Viktor to burst into laughter. Their teeth chattered in tandem and they peeled away from each other. A look between them, then they were sprinting back, tasting iron on their tongues and ice in their lungs.

***

           

 

 

_**Four Years Later** _

_**[June 15 th, 2007] Viktor: 19 years old Yuuri: 16 years old** _

            “You’re moving out?!” Yuuri stared at Viktor in disbelief, “ _Now_ of all times?”

            This was his year, his _senior debut_. Yuuri’s body was being pushed in ways it was never meant to, his brain unraveling at the seams, and now- this.

            “What’s wrong with now?” Viktor asked as he typed a text on his phone.

            “They’re getting a divorce and suddenly you decide you want to move halfway across town.” Yuuri incredulous judgement was valid, damn it. He couldn’t deal with this alone- he wouldn’t. The fear of failure already kept him up at night enough as it is.

            “So it’s not ideal,” Viktor admitted, “But I can’t put my life on hold anymore.”

            “It’s not about you right now,” Yuuri countered, disappointment curdling his expression, “Since when have you been so selfish, Vitya?”

            “Since always, you just never noticed because it always benefited you,” Viktor scoffed, his tongue sharp in the face of Yuuri’s disapproving glare. It was too much. Yuuri’s clenched his fists, frustration threatening his logic. Viktor briefly looked up from his phone, flinching at what he saw, “Yuuri, I didn’t mean-“

            “You never mean anything, you never _think_ ,” Yuuri interrupted quietly, eyes drifting away, “You’re barely even a person now. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re Viktor, or that persona you’ve gotten so good at playing up for the sponsors.”

            He knew it was cruel of him to say. Knew that Viktor never meant to truly hurt Yuuri- but he was so sick of having to deal with other peoples’ decisions. When did he get to decide something without asking? When could he leave behind a mess for other people to clean up? It seemed impossible to do with Viktor. The man was competitive enough to beat Yuuri at making a mess too.

            Yuuri didn’t linger after he said what he said, turning on his heel and clicking the bedroom door shut behind him. He walked to his own room, shutting the door behind him before throwing himself under his covers. He hated these moments, when all he could hear were his own pathetic whimpers. His favorite pillow was getting soaked with his tears and he could only sniffle and keep crying.

            It was just so fucking much.  He was _angry_. It was going to be his year- his debut, his chance to prove that he was _more_ than a Japanese orphan pitied by a group of talented Russians. He practiced hours on hours, ballet then skating, then ballet again, conditioning in between, a sodium reduced, low carb meal prep diet, eight hours of rest every night, the list was endless. Each time he fell, he could practically hear Yakov thinking, _Viktor could do better_.

            He was already a year late; last year should have been the one. But he flubbed the simplest jump- a double axel, not even a triple, and went down. He’d dragged himself out of the rink with a dislocated knee a week before nationals, crawled to the bench to get his phone and call Viktor. Yakov had nearly murdered him for practicing alone. Viktor had fretted and placated him with “there’s still next year”.

            And now it was next year and everything was wrong, wrong, wrong.

            Viktor couldn’t move out _._ Who would fill the mornings with chatter? It couldn’t be Yuuri (he was a jackass when he woke up nowadays. Viktor said it was just hormones messing with his mornings, but it was more likely the endless nightmares that ruined them). As hard as he tried, he couldn’t make up Viktor’s presence, charisma and ethereal demand for attention.

            And what about their shitty day sleepovers? There was no way Yuuri could stealthily sneak out and catch a ride at the last minute. It wasn’t the same as a few steps down the hallway.

            His phone pinged with a text message. Yuuri reached over and grabbed it with clumsy fingers, flipping it open to squint at the text.

 

_Why aren’t you at practice?_

  * Mila



 

            _Shit_ , he’d completely forgotten.

            Yuuri groaned, head flopping back onto his pillow to grimace at the ceiling. Yakov was going to make him run so many kilometers tomorrow morning. _Thanks, Viktor_ , he thought bitterly, irrational as it was.

***

            Viktor stared at the gently shut door. He would be less worried if Yuuri had slammed it like a normal teenager. But _no,_ he had to passive aggressively shut it politely and make the gnawing hole of guilt grow in Viktor’s chest.

            “Ugh!” He shoved his face into his pillow. Why was it so hard to do what he wanted? He was nineteen, for god’s sake. People his age were living their best lives, and here he was, stagnating in his coach’s home. No staying out too late, no eating his random cravings, no _pets_. It was just winning here, gold medals that were packed away in a box to make room for other medals.

            Moving out was only logical. Why couldn’t Yuuri understand?  He’d wanted them to move out together, live on their own like they’d always wanted. At least he _thought_ it was what they both wanted. Maybe Yuuri didn’t. The possibility hurt more than Viktor would have liked. He was hurting in general, Yuuri’s barbed tongue had only grown sharper in his teenage years. Sometimes Viktor forgot how quickly the young boy could flip the switch and tear him apart with a few words.

            Yuuri would understand one day, he was too young to grasp the concept of true _freedom_. And it wasn’t like Viktor was moving out of the country, it was just a thirty-minute drive. Not to mention all the practice time they had together, that was nearly six hours a day (even if Yakov or Lilia was present for it). And their sleepovers could be as loud as they wanted, and they’d be able to stay up late- and, and…

            Maybe he was selfish. Yuuri’s disappointment had cut deep. He couldn’t stop it, though. He’d never been good at fighting his urges, and this was one of the strongest desires he’d ever had. His phone pinged and he glanced at the text.

            _Shit_ , he’d missed practice.

            Whatever, he deserved a break anyway. Viktor tossed the phone away and frowned at the ceiling. A second later, an incoming call sent his phone into spasms.

            “What now?” He muttered to himself, sitting up and snatching it up. _Huh_ , Viktor thought, _it’s just Chris_. He answered it, his need to vent too strong.

            “Chris!”

            _“Viktor!”_

            “You wouldn’t believe what-“

            _“Before you talk, I just had a foursome,”_ Chris interrupted.

“Congratulations. Wait, like _just_ now?”

            _“No! I’m not that rude, a few hours ago.”_

“I’m happy for you, but Yuuri and I are fighting and I’m dying inside.” Viktor rolled onto his stomach, crossing his ankles. “I’ll die if he hates me.”

            _“Right.”_ Chris’ sigh spoke louder than words. _“I knew something was weird when you picked up on the first call.”_

“Please?” Viktor’s puppy eyes somehow managed to traverse the phone line.

            “ _Fine_ _. What was it about?”_

“I’m moving out and he’s so pissy about it,” He complained, “He called me selfish. Me! Viktor Nikiforov!”

            _“Wow. You? Selfish?”_

            “When have I ever- “

            _“This call is now about you, that time you abandoned me at the banquet to go to a club with five other skaters, any time you order food and never share, you hog the bed- “_

            “Okay, _okay_ ,” Viktor snapped, “But when am I selfish with _Yuuri_?”

            _“I’m guessing right now if he called you selfish. Aren’t your parents divorcing right now?”_

“They’re not our parents, they’re coaches that we live with,” Viktor clarified, “And so what if they’re divorcing?”

            _“I can’t believe he called you selfish.”_

“Right?”

            _“Sarcasm, Viktor.”_

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm! Yuuri hates me, and I’m going to die from sadness, and he’ll come to my funeral and call me _selfish_ \- “

            _“Calm down, drama queen. Have you considered…I don’t know, talking to him?”_

“That’s how this all started!”

            _“The thing about talking is that it can be used to do more than start an argument.”_

“I guess.” Viktor twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “But he can be so mean.”

            _“You’re older than him, you’re supposed to be mature and not fail at communication.”_

“Yuuri is the one that’s mature,” Viktor whined. “He’s the one that does all the chores and reminds me of my doctor appointments.”

            _“You’re useless. His coaches are divorcing, he’s debuting his senior season, and he’s hormonal, don’t be a dick. Go talk to him, I need to sleep off the migraine your logic just gave me.”_

            “But-,“ Viktor blinked at the dial tone, pulling the phone away to glare at the screen. “Rude.”

            Chris had a point. Yuuri did seem stressed out the last few weeks.  Maybe if he ignored the problem for a short bit it would work out.

***

            Ignoring the problem: bad idea. Three days dragged by with Yuuri’s silence and passive aggressive door shutting. Yakov and Lilia were too focused on hating each other to notice. It was torture. No more playful tag, or reading together, or _anything_. It was the worst kind of loneliness (when Yuuri is _there_ , just out of reach).

            Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to fix this, and sulking did nothing but prolong his misery. Viktor stood from his bed swiftly and went to the door. He wrenched it open right as it was being pushed, and suddenly he had an armful of confused Yuuri.

            “Oh-“

            “Wha-“

“Yuuri!”

            “Um.” Yuuri stared up at him with his usual flushed expression.

            “I was actually going to your room,” Viktor laughed nervously, stepping back quickly to unpeel himself from the other.

            “I see.” Yuuri glanced away, shuffling his feet for a second. “To talk?”

            “Well, yes.” Wasn’t that obvious?

            Yuuri nodded and started shuffling to the bed. Viktor shut the door behind him and joined him, careful to keep some distance between them.

            “Listen,” Viktor spoke up after another minute of silence crept by, “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m leaving soon,” He hesitated, unable to keep from inching forward some more. “I’ve already put down the security deposit. It’s really not that far- only thirty minutes away, and you could-“

            “Vitya,” Yuuri cut in, hand reaching forward to grip Viktor’s, “I know it’s not far, I’m just…” He huffed, “I’m scared of doing this alone.”

            “You don’t have to be alone, that’s what I’m trying to say,” Viktor tangled their fingers further and leaned forward. “Come with me, we could live together. No Yakov, no Lilia, outside of training. Just us.”

            Yuuri’s face twisted with conflict and his shoulders hunched in defeat.

            “I can’t.”

            “Why not?” Viktor urged. “What’s stopping you?”

            “Yakov would never let me- and I should stay. Someone’s got to stay to make sure he’ll be okay,” Yuuri bit his lip. “I just don’t know that I can do it right.”

            Viktor’s struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. He hadn’t even thought of that. Yakov hadn’t wanted the divorce. He’d probably be a mess. “I didn’t realize…”

            “I know,” Yuuri smiled slightly, reaching up to brush some hair from Viktor’s face, “You’ve always been in your own world. It’s what makes you dance on the ice like you do. You’re not weighed down by these mundane things, but someone has to be.”

            “And I made it you.” Viktor dropped his head to Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yuuri, I’m sorry. I can give up the apartment. I can still get out of it.”

            “I’d rather you didn’t.” Yuuri ran his fingers through the silver strands. “You were going to move out eventually. We both thought I’d come with you, but maybe it’s best I don’t.”

            “How could you think that? I would have never bothered looking if I knew you wouldn’t be able to come with me,” He argued, lifting his head to frown at Yuuri. There was a waver in his voice though, a hint of doubt. Viktor could tell he wasn’t the only one who heard it (based on the disbelieving look Yuuri gave him).

            “We’re both exaggerating the situation. It’s not the end of the world, I’ll just move in with you after this season.” Like things were that easy.

            “What if you don’t?” Viktor mumbled, internally grimacing at how childish he sounded.

            “Then you can drag me to your apartment anyway, okay?”

            “God _damnit_.” Yuuri jumped at Viktor’s sudden curse. At the concerned look, Viktor wrapped his arms around the younger boy. “You’re so much better at this than me, and I’m angry.”

            “You’re angry I don’t suck at thinking?” Viktor couldn’t see Yuuri’s bemused expression with his face shoved into the juncture of the teen’s neck.

            “ _No_. Yes. Kind of. I don’t know. I should be the adult, right?”

            “You technically are. Legally at least. But there’s plenty of legal people who should have their adult privileges revoked.” Yuuri was teasing now, he could tell. Viktor played along, clinging tighter.

            “Including me?”

            “Probably,” Yuuri drawled, but his voice was fond. Viktor smiled into his skin. “It’s not like I’m always good at this, anyway. We take turns at this stuff, it’s what we do.”

            “Yeah,” Viktor closed his eyes, “it’s what we do.”

***

            “Vitya,” Yuuri panted, muscles quivering from strain, “I can’t… not much longer.”

            “Shh…” Viktor shushed, “Maybe I should it put it in like…this?”

            Yuuri yelped, struggling to compensate.

            “Don’t just twist the couch without warning me!” He growled, barely keeping his end of the furniture up. _We don’t need to hire movers, he said,_ Yuuri thought snidely, _it’ll be easy, he said_. _Meanwhile, I’m about to throw out my back before qualifying for the GPF._

            “Pivot!”

            “Shut _up_.”

***

            “We did it!” Viktor cheered an hour later. His new apartment was now full of his things, and an ornery Yuuri.

            “My back hurts, is this your plan for getting me out of competition?” Yuuri complained from the cursed couch he was splayed out on. “We should have just hired movers!”

            “Ah,” Viktor tilted his head and tapped his lips with his finger. “That would have been easier,” He conceded.

            “I hate you so, so much.”

            “How about I order pizza, and we keep it a secret from Yakov?” Viktor offered, leaning over the back of the couch to beam at Yuuri. The younger boy squinted up at him incredulously before nodding. That was sufficient payment for his suffering.

            “You better not let it slip to him, he’ll kill me. You know how easily I gain weight,” Yuuri yawned, stretching his arms out.

            “He’s too busy drowning himself in vodka to notice, anyway,” Viktor said flippantly, wincing when Yuuri levelled a disapproving frown at him. “Too mean? Okay.”

            Satisfied with Viktor’s repentant behavior, Yuuri grabbed the nearby remote and turned to the TV, “Is the cable hooked up yet?”

            “No, but the _satellite_ is. Get with the decade, Yuuratchka. Such an old man- ack!” Viktor’s reflexes were too slow to avoid Yuuri’s hand shooting over the couch, dragging him over it. It was a skillful maneuver that ended with Yuuri straddling him and attacking him with potent tickling hands. Viktor erupted with hysterical laughter, he could feel his face turning the unattractive red that appeared only by Yuuri’s doing. “S-Stop, stop!”

            “Is the old man conceding defeat?” Yuuri teased, pinching Viktor’s sensitive sides. He was wholly unprepared for the masterful bait and switch Viktor performed. His wrists were caught by stronger hands, and suddenly he was pressed into the couch where Viktor had just been.

            “As if,” Viktor whispered smugly before returning the tickling assault tenfold. By the end of their tickling fit, the apartment was filled with their echoing, heavy breaths. Yuuri was the clear loser this time around, and Viktor looked down ( _so_ ready to gloat). Nothing came out however, when he caught sight of Yuuri’s disheveled appearance.

            He looked absolutely _wrecked_. His glasses had been knocked away in their tussle, his lips were bitten raw, and that half lidded stare was making Viktor feel all kinds of ways. Yuuri looked at him in complete submission, like he was ready for Viktor to dominate the _fuck_ out of him- _wait, what?_

            Viktor jolted upright, wide-eyed and unable to comprehend his thought process. What was his brain doing? _I just wanted to fuck Yuuri_ , he thought in horror, _I wanted to put my dick in him._

            Yuuri had calmed down at this point, staring up at him with parted lips and furrowed brows. “Vitya?”

            _Scratch that, I still want to put my dick in him_ , Viktor scrambled off the other and bolted into the kitchen without another word.

***

            To say Yuuri was confused would be an understatement. One second, he had a gloating nineteen-year-old on top of him, and the next he didn’t. He sat up and looked over the couch to see Viktor nervously pacing in the kitchen. _What did I do?_ Yuuri fretted, thinking back on a possible cause. The answer came to him when he shifted his leg and shivered.

            _Oh god_ , he stared at his crotch helplessly, _Viktor felt my hard on_. Objectively, he knew it wasn’t the end of the world- but it sure as fuck felt like it. His horribly timed dick had singlehandedly driven Viktor away in fear. _Stupid, stupid_ , Yuuri whimpered internally, cradling his face in his hands. They were having so much fun too.

            It was so easy to forget that things were different now. That _they_ were different now (especially their bodies). They’d had dozens of tickle fights in their time together, but not like this. Never alone, in an empty apartment, both smelling of musky sweat and panting. That was- it was-…well, it explained the boner.

            Something clattered in the kitchen, following by Viktor’s quiet cursing. _I should just leave_ , Yuuri stood up, glancing at the door. He barely made a step before Viktor appeared next to him, as if summoned.

            “Where’re you going?” Viktor asked, looking much calmer than Yuuri expected. “I just ordered a large pizza, you can’t expect me to finish it myself.”

            “I-I…No, of course not,” Yuuri stuttered, “I was just…” He couldn’t think of a good lie, so he let the sentence drift away without finishing. He couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Viktor, his head would explode if he did.

            “Yuuri, what happened a few minutes ago…” Viktor leaned in, his voice serious.

            “What happened a few minutes ago?” Yuuri blurted in a last-ditch attempt to stifle the topic. It worked, startling Viktor into a confused stare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            He wasn’t ready for this conversation. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what happened when attraction and feelings became involved. They would have to decide what to do and it would change everything. No more sleepovers, no more touching, it would all end. And Yuuri wanted to be _selfish_ for once; he wanted Viktor to stay by his side, even if it was just as Viktor. Never _ViktorandYuuri_. The thought of losing him was too much.

            Yuuri wasn’t prepared for the dejected look in Viktor’s face, like Yuuri had just broken his heart, or something. It didn’t make sense, considering it was _Yuuri_ who had his heart on the line. Another beat passed and Viktor cleared his throat, the hurt fading from his eyes as he glanced at the remote briefly.

            “You never turned on the TV,” Viktor offered weakly. Yuuri relaxed.

            “You distracted me, is all,” Yuuri turned and reached for the remote once more, plopping on the couch, “I’ve been meaning to watch that soap opera Yakov has been raving about. The one with the pregnant stripper and the mobster.”

            Viktor didn’t join him immediately, just stood there like a sad statue. Yuuri kept his mouth shut because he was a coward (a pathetic, scared coward who didn’t want to deal with anything right now). Eventually, Viktor joined him and it made the choking guilt in Yuuri’s throat ease up slightly.

            “Didn’t she miscarry?” Viktor asked as an afterthought when the episode began and the stripper was still six months pregnant. Yuuri barely heard him, every hormone in his body letting him know that his _thigh_ was touching _Viktor’s thigh_.

            “She tricked him so she could live in the rural countryside of Ukraine,” Yuuri mumbled, crossing his arms to avoid reaching out to Viktor. It worked for a second, but then Viktor lounging back and wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri gulped, sneaking a look over at him.

            “Just this,” Viktor said quietly, “okay?”

            He wanted to cry, but he managed not to. Yuuri nodded shakily and let the other press their sides together. Viktor was letting him have this, at least. In a way, it was worse than being shunned. He was getting a taste of what he couldn’t have. He _knew_ Viktor didn’t feel the same way, and yet, like always, the older man did his best to make Yuuri happy.

            _I’m so selfish_ , Yuuri thought, feeling perverse as he clung to Viktor and watched the cheap show. This wasn’t sustainable. It would have to come to an end soon, but he couldn’t give up this intimacy yet. One day, Viktor would go where Yuuri couldn’t follow, he would ascend like the blue-eyed angel he was and leave the castaway orphan (with narrow eyes and an accented lisp that refused to fade). And on that day, Yuuri would let go. He wouldn’t ruin Viktor.

            He stayed the night, too. He shouldn’t have (he couldn’t say no, not to Viktor). The frigid house where Yakov and Lilia battled was hardly beckoning. There was no question that Yuuri would sleep with Viktor wrapped around him. His dreams were flashes of their childhoods, interlocked as far back as he could bear to remember.

***

            Viktor drove him back home the next morning and Yuuri pretended not to notice the frequent glances sent his way. There was an expected amount of tension, mostly for the awkward breakfast planned for the morning. It was their final breakfast altogether. Lilia had secured a new home and would be leaving afterwards.

            “I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Yuuri blurted after the fifteenth look from Viktor. He kept his head turned toward the window, not wanting to catch guilt on Viktor’s face.

            “I know. My phone is _always_ on. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning,” Viktor’s hands clenched around the wheel, “If he gets too drunk or _anything_ , I’ll come and you can stay with me.”

            “He wouldn’t.” Yuuri was a bit offended on Yakov’s behalf. The man may not have been a pure father figure, but he still cared for Yuuri and Viktor like his sons. He was their coach, but they were his children.

            “But if he _does_ ,” Viktor stressed, “My apartment is _your_ apartment, okay?”

            “Alright, I get it. Just keep your eyes on the road,” Yuuri sighed. He’d never call, not for something like that. If Yakov was ever such a horrible mess, the last thing Yuuri would do was pull Viktor into the mess he wanted to escape from in the first place. There was no way Viktor didn’t know that, but the man offered anyway.

            Breakfast was a quiet affair with the extensive awkward silence. The house they’d grown up in seemed emptier than ever with Lilia’s essentials packed away and moved. Yakov was a bare minimum type. All his belongings could be found in the form of a couch, a TV, a bed, and anything in his study.  

            Lilia and Viktor left in tandem, the latter having a swim party to go to. Yuuri had refused the invitation to join (Viktor looked ready to protest, but left it alone for once). He waved them both off with a wan smile and returned inside to finish washing the dishes. Yakov was still seated at the head of the table, his cup filled to the brim with _chay s varen'yem_ (tea with jam, a staple of Eastern European households). Yuuri did his best to ignore the red rimmed eyes that stared at the floorboards blearily. It felt unnatural to see the strong coach so subdued.

            To be fair, he’d never been particularly close to Yakov. The man had a soft spot for him, but Viktor had always been the favorite. Lilia arguably favored Yuuri (he couldn’t see it despite Viktor swearing it was true). He’d always felt like the orphan they’d gotten stuck with. Their lack of familiarity was painfully obvious now. Of all the people to remain with Yakov, it was him. For someone who cried as much as he did he had a tendency to be emotionally distant. Yuuri was notorious for his inability to empathize, would get caught up in his own head and forget that other people weren’t supporting actors to his life. It was a clear character flaw that Viktor typically helped him with. But Viktor was gone right now and all the dishes were clean.

            _What do I do?_ Yuuri panicked, eyes shifting from the sink to the refrigerator as he tried to think of a plan. He was usually the one to be comforted. Whenever Viktor (very rarely) had his meltdowns, Yuuri would hover like an obnoxious blimp. He’d poke and prod in startled concern instead of actually providing emotional support. Viktor didn’t cry enough for Yuuri to practice.

            But it wasn’t the time to crawl away, Yakov needed a distraction. Yuuri swiveled around and opened his mouth, making eye contact with the towering figure that had saved him from a discarded life.

            “Let’s play chess.”

            So they played chess. One hour became two, and two became twelve. He didn’t even know it was possible to think that long (his brain was ready to burst). There had been an amicable quiet the entire time, sometimes interrupted for a sarcastic quip or goad. They’d played while eating lunch and dinner, nibbling bread and kolbasa _(kielbasa)_. His body ached from being so stationary, but the thought of leaving Yakov on his own concerned him for other reasons. He stayed while the older man obsessively called for another round.

            “Hm, best out of thirty?”  

            “It’s nine at night,” Yuuri was starting to get desperate for a reprieve. He couldn’t stifle his yawns anymore and his ass was beginning to meld to the chair. “It’s a tie.”

            “I don’t need your pity,” Yakov retorted. “You won. Enjoy life’s victories when you can.”

            He couldn’t tell whether he was being reprimanded or given wisdom from a rueful elder. Nevertheless, Yuuri nodded his head respectfully and began putting away the chess board.  Yakov stood to stretch, not speaking another word until Yuuri was finished and turning to leave.

            “Viktor is a fickle boy.” The abrupt statement seemed out of place.  

            “He’s a man now, I think. At least, he’s trying to be,” Yuuri worried his lip as Yakov eyed him.

            “He’s also your brother.” Yakov’s tone was grave, it made Yuuri tense.

            “No, he’s not,” Yuuri responded tersely, keeping his head slightly bowed out of respect. Out of the both of them, Viktor was the one who did the backtalk (and even then, he was capricious about it, changing subjects quickly enough to disorient rather than revolt against).

            “I suppose he isn’t,” Yakov conceded quicker than Yuuri had expected, causing him to look up in surprise, “but he isn’t just a man. He is the face of the Federation, a public figure.”

            Yakov didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. Yuuri could read between the lines.

            _Don’t ruin his life,_ he meant, _don’t let your selfishness stifle his career_.

            Yuuri nodded his head numbly, wishing the older man a good night’s sleep before stiffly returning to his bedroom. Seconds after his door shut he heard the television blaring from the living room. For some reason, it set him off. Yuuri collapsed on the bed and sobbed so hard his eyes throbbed. He went until the clock on the nightstand read eleven, until his throat felt swollen enough to suffocate him. The television never turned off, not until the early hours of the morning. As Yuuri drifted off into miserable sleep, he couldn’t help wondering whose crying the TV was meant to cover up.

***

            It didn’t take long to put Yakov’s request into action. Life made it easy to drift apart from Viktor. Yuuri’s skating times were switched with his dancing practice, effectively ending their main source of contact. Slowly, Yuuri stopped reaching out to Viktor. Not suddenly enough to force the Russian to intervene, but firmly enough to slow their communication into a nonexistent trickle.

            He didn’t make it to the Grand Pris, had flubbed one too many jumps in the qualifying skates. Yakov hadn’t yelled at him. Mila and the other skaters had joked he’d done it on purpose just to avoid them (they’d noticed his disappearance too). He’d smiled and laughed politely at their jokes, and cried in the bathroom afterwards.

            He hated himself for feeling joy at failing. He didn’t want to see Viktor. He definitely didn’t want to compete on the same ice as him, didn’t want to have to answer the questions those sad blue eyes would ask him.

            Yuuri still went to practice, but it was a formality. He went to be polite. Mila noticed, even a smaller brat by the surname of Plisetsky noticed. He’d burst into practice once with blazing green eyes and a curled lip, accusing Yuuri of wasting everyone’s time.

            He was dragged away by his apologizing grandfather shortly after, kicking petulantly. Yuuri didn’t say much in response, but Yakov didn’t ask why he stopped coming to the rink after that.

            Sometimes Viktor called him at the early hours of the morning. Yuuri always picked up then (he’d never forgive himself if Viktor needed help and he was met with Yuuri’s voicemail). Every call so far had been a drunken slur on Viktor’s behalf.

            “We…we were supposed to be on the ice _together_ ,” Viktor would whimper. “Yuuri, _come back_.”

            “I like ballet,” Yuuri had kept his words short and simple. A drunken Viktor was worse than a child.

            “Then- then I’ll switch to your ballet schedule!” He’d been so happy at the easy solution. The next morning he’d shown up to an empty studio, Lilia pointing out that Yuuri’s schedule had changed again.

            The calls stopped after that.

            It hurt, but what did he expect? Even an octopus had to stop clinging if you manually chopped off each limb (you’d assume it would let go after one limb gets cut off, but for an octopus at Viktor’s caliber, it took a solid four decapitations before it found some survival instinct).

            It wasn’t all bad. Viktor blossomed during their time apart, becoming a staple of the media and of figure skating. Yuuri had done well in school. He had options- scholarships for college, driven by his success in the ballet world. A year had passed since Viktor moved out, months since they last spoke. It took adjusting- of course it did. They had been stuck to each other like glue for a decade, knew each other better than most married couples did, so of course it was a struggle. But Yuuri was _managing_ , he only cried ever so often now. His panic attacks were quieter without Viktor there, but they were longer. He avoided the empty bedroom across the hall.

            He was doing _fine_.

            And then Viktor ruined it all with a call at three in the afternoon.

            He’d answered it automatically then cursed his hands for it. There was no turning back now.

            “H-hello?” Yuuri wasn’t proud of the waver in his voice.

            _“Sorry I missed your birthday.”_ Viktor’s voice was remorseful. Yuuri let out a breath slowly, the tightness in his chest overwhelming.

            “Sorry I missed yours,” Yuuri replied, bringing his knees to his chest as he leaned back against his headboard. “Is everything okay?”

            _“Yeah,”_ Viktor’s voice drifted a bit, not finishing his thought.

            “Vitya? Hello?” The nickname slipped out before he could stop it, and he winced. Did he have the right to call Viktor that anymore? He heard the other take a shuddery breath.

            _“You haven’t called me that in a while_.” Yuuri worried his lip.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

            _“I’m not okay_.” Yuuri reeled from the abrupt subject change, but this was Viktor after all.

            “What’s wrong?” He asked, worried now.

            _“Everything. Everything’s wrong- and you’re not **here**_.”

            “I can be. I’ll be over right now, where are you?” Yuuri had never heard the other sound so despondent, so lost. It wasn’t melodramatic, it was serious, and he’d never forgive himself if Viktor… He didn’t finish that line of thinking. Instead, he stood up, grabbing his keys from the nightstand and keeping the phone to his ear.

            He placed the keys down a moment later.

            “Paris,” Viktor croaked, “I’m on vacation.”

            “You don’t sound very relaxed,” Yuuri retorted incredulously, slowly returning to the bed.

            “Come back. I mean,” Viktor backtracked, “Come here. We haven’t seen each other in so long.”

            “I can’t,” Yuuri couldn’t help the stab of guilt that came, “I have a showcase this weekend.”

            “Right, ballet.” Yuuri could hear the bitter edge to the words. “I didn’t think it through. Forget it-“

            “No!” Yuuri blurted. One year and he was fine, he’d been _fine_ , damn it. But now, the thought of not seeing Viktor once more made him sick to his stomach, “I’ll come.”

            “What? Don’t be ridiculous. The weekend is three days from now.”

            “I can skip it. It’s just a local thing.” It was definitely _not_ a local thing. Lilia would skin him alive.

 _“Don’t do that,”_ Viktor sighed, _“Maybe it’s better this way.”_

            He didn’t want to know the meaning behind those words. He hadn’t been “better”, not for a year. In fact, Yuuri had been a steadily declining “worse”. His mouth moved before his brain could, like usual when talking with Viktor. “I miss you.”

            The short silence that followed his statement was horrible. Each millisecond was filled with Yuuri’s brain throwing itself against the walls of his skull in misery. _I fucked up, I fucked it all up_.

 _“Yuuri,”_ The breathy inclination sent a shiver down his spine, _“I’m coming home soon. Let’s meet.”_

            It was a small promise, but it eased his anxiety nonetheless. Nothing was fixed, but it felt _better_.

            “I’ll be here, waiting for you. I’m sorry,” He didn’t specify what for, tacking on a haphazard, “bye, Vitya,” before hanging up.

            He shoved his face in his pillow and let himself breathe.

***

            Viktor cradled the phone to his chest with Yuuri’s voice still ringing in his ear. It had gotten deeper in the year they’d been apart. The bed shifted as its other occupant sat up slowly, apparently feigning sleep before.

            “It was so bad you had to call your little brother after?” Chris joked, sliding up to rest his chin on Viktor’s naked shoulder.

            “He’s not my brother,” Viktor muttered dully, fighting the unease that surged from Chris’ words, “And this was a mistake.”

            Chris flinched away, swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his pants, “Shit Viktor. Tell my how you _really_ feel,” He snorted.

            “I just did,” Viktor snapped, tossing the phone onto the bedside table.

            “And he _is_ your brother, legally. You were both adopted by the same parents.”

            “We are not brothers.” There was a warning there, urging Chris to choose his words carefully. “There’s not a word for what we are.”

            “Incestuous? Jackasses, maybe? Or maybe that last one is just you.” The snide remark stung, but it was fair. Viktor could let it slide for now (he’d ruined their morning after glow, and crushed Chris’ ego, after all).

            “I’m sure I have some royal blood in me, it gives me a pass,” Viktor smiled tentatively. Chris shook his head and smirked, accepting the olive branch.

            “Careful, Russian royalty doesn’t have the best track record.”

***

            As much as he’d wanted to, Viktor managed not to rush back to Russia ( _ha!_ ) the day after his overdue contact with Yuuri. One look at Chris’ face had cemented Viktor’s vacation lasting another week at the _least_ to make up for the emotional damage he’d casually inflicted. They were close friends but that didn’t mean Viktor was blind to the infatuation Chris kept for him, especially after that unfortunate tumble in bed. Though the flirtatious blond had insisted he was fine, Viktor took him to shops and beaches and flitted about Europe with him. No one could say that Viktor was completely heartless. He knew how to take care of his loved ones- it just…took a bit of practice.

            The vacation did its job in distracting him from Yuuri at first. But then it did the opposite. Every monument would be more fun if _Yuuri_ was there. All the food would be tastier if he knew which one _Yuuri_ would prefer. Everything reminded him of what Yuuri had yet to have ( _“Chris, which scarf would he like?” “Chris, do you think he’d like this gelato?” “Oh, Chris! What if Yuuri-“ “Shut up, for the love of god.”)._

            He was honestly concerned for his own psyche, it was nearing obsessive. Chris’ disgruntled expression had smoothed into amusement by the fourth day into Yuuri-mania. Even his jabs were ineffective, however, in the face of Viktor’s heart eyed (and mouthed) obsession.

            “Doesn’t this look like Yuuri?” Chris joked, lifting up a bulbous eyed pug that snorted and wheezed at them. They’d somehow managed to stumble upon an adoption-festival in the middle of Switzerland. Viktor was sipping his tea and staring at trees with a look way too wistful for someone who was thinking about a picnic with Yuuri. He had barely even noticed where they were.

            “Hm?” He glanced over at the mention of Yuuri, pausing as he stared at the wrinkly thing. “That is… hideous. Yuuri is much cuter.”

            “Viktor!” Chris still laughed, because he was horrible. He pressed a kiss to the pug’s head apologetically, “Don’t listen to him, raisin dog. You’re pretty on the inside.”

            “Yes, but being pretty on the inside doesn’t get you adopted.” Viktor ducked the hand sent his way by Chris, shuffling off with a pleased expression. He could see Chris smile apologetically at the glaring volunteer workers out of the corner of his eye.

            Viktor tossed away his disposable tea cup and strolled around the park, listening to the delighted screams of children. He didn’t particularly _like_ children. They were close to his temperament and just as heedless, but they were like personal prisons. Children were fun when _he_ was child, but the older he got the more they represented responsibility. A shudder went through him at the thought of having one. He muttered a quick prayer that the thought never come to fruition.

            Not a second later, he was eating dirt. He hadn’t fallen so hard since he was ten, at the _most_. He tasted iron and his nose ached, and his Spring ’08 collection outfit was _ruined_. He jerked his head back to see what had caused his demise, staring into the eyes of his nemesis.

            The small poodle puppy yipped, tail wagging.

            _Bastard_ , he thought bitterly, _looking cute after ruining my day._

            The dog came snuffling over a second later, licking at Viktor’s face apologetically. It was ridiculously endearing and all the irritation left his body. He rolled onto his back and ignored the concerned stares shot his way by passersby. The puppy had obviously escaped the sectioned off area for the dogs. _I should hand it over to the volunteers,_ was the logical thought. Instead, his brain said, _aww, mini Yuuri! Look how cute his widdle paws are and those brown eyes! Who’s a good boy?! Who’s a good boy_   _that hurts me?_

            Yes, exactly like his Yuuri. Viktor wasted no time in sweeping the puppy into his arms and standing up. He wiped the blood from his lip and pranced over to Chris, who was playing with a kitten in the small cat corner. The blond looked at him with such confusion that he couldn’t help a cheerful laugh. He held up the puppy.

            “He looks like Yuuri!”

            “…Are you blind?” Chris asked skeptically. “It looks _nothing_ like Yuuri.”

            “Does too, look at how soft and wonderful it is! So sweet, what a good doggy,” Viktor cooed, rubbing his cheek against the wriggling pup. Chris stared.

            “This is unnatural.”

            “I’m taking you with me,” Viktor held up the poodle like a trophy, “Where do I adopt?” He stated loudly enough to get the attention of some workers. He signed the paperwork set before him quickly enough to cramp his hand, refusing to let go of the puppy as he did so. He paused as he reached the name portion. “Hm… Makkachin! Yes, perfect.”

            In the span of five minutes he had obtained a dog.

            “Don’t kill it,” Chris warned, “Dogs can be as much work as children.”

            “Don’t compare my sweet Makka to such a horrible thing,” Viktor retorted, “It’s going to be different. Yuuri and I will raise Makkachin and we’ll live together on a mountain as a family.”

            Chris gave him look so deadpan that Viktor hunched defensively, challenging the Swiss man to say otherwise.

***

            A few more hours and he would be home. He could barely hear the rumble of the plane engines, eyes down in his lap. He wondered what a seventeen year old Yuuri looked like.  A year was a huge gap of time during the teenage years. Would he be taller? Masculine, or maybe retain some femininity? Viktor had forced himself to avoid the news articles of Yuuri’s ballet recitals and showcases, not wanting to ruin the surprise- but it was _torture._

            Why did Yuuri have to start avoiding him? It had been perfect. A prepped apartment for the both of them, a breakthrough in their relationship, and the skating had been _beautiful_. At least, it used to be. He hadn’t seen Yuuri skate beyond a few videos before the Grand Pris and even those had been painful to watch. It was like a stranger had taken to the ice, frigid and clumsy, lacking any of the grace Yuuri had always maintained. He’d yelled at Yakov about it ( _“How do you let your own skater fall apart like this?”)_ and had never gotten an answer.

            The plane was landing. He looked around in confusion, but it wasn’t a trick of the mind. He’d just brooded for an entire plane flight- what a feat! He probably should have napped, but who could sleep when _Yuuri_ was waiting for them?

            The moment his feet were on the floors of the airport terminal, his phone was turned on and doing the Macarena with the sheer amount of messages he received. He quickly turned off the vibration when he received a few dirty looks. He ignored the messages from acquaintances and the like, zeroing in on Yuuri’s name.

 

_Here to pick you up, let me know when you land._

  * Yuuri <3 <3 16:32



 

            Viktor’s cheeks stung with the force of his smile. The herd of people that had been surrounding him began moving in one direction. It took him a moment to realize he still needed to receive Makkachin and his luggage. He shot off a text letting Yuuri know that he’d landed before setting off.

            Makkachin was sweet and docile despite the flight. Viktor clutched the kennel and walked with purpose. Yuuri was here (he was _here,_ holy shit). He nearly dropped the pup when he caught sight of the raven haired boy.  The slow descent down the escalator had Viktor fidgeting. God, where was the suave aloofness he’d mastered as a teenager?  He was _Viktor Nikiforov_ , voted into Russia’s top five sexiest celebrity two years running, a prodigy, and he was about ready to trip over his own feet for Yuuri Katsuki, a boy the world labelled as his brother.

 _It’s like a bad soap opera_ , Viktor thought to himself with amusement, _at least I haven’t gotten Yuuri pregnant._

            Viktor took a step the final step off the escalator and froze.

            Fuck, Yuuri looked…

            Terrible.

            He’d lost too much weight. The Japanese boy had always been on the thicker side, but it had fit his body. Now his cheeks were sunken, his eyes weary, complexion sallow, and his clothes hung on him like he was a coat rack instead of a person. Viktor had never seen Yuuri this thin. Was he sick? Had that been why…?

            He was still Yuuri, despite the change. His eyes, though duller, were still as expressive as ever as he caught sight of Viktor. When Yuuri smiled that beautiful smile of his, Viktor felt his knees weaken and he had to set down Makkachin with the rest of his luggage before he collapsed.

 _I’ve missed you so much_ , he wanted to cry like he saw those Americans in their reunion videos cry, but he knew Yuuri would panic too much to play off the moment.

            Instead, he jumped onto Yuuri (because that was less dramatic to what he wanted to do) and clutched him tightly. Muscle memory saved him from being dropped and Yuuri’s hands wrapped around his waist. He was set down almost immediately but he refused to unpeel from around the other’s thin form. He clung and squeezed, ignoring the scandalized looks- this was _his time_ , he didn’t care how inappropriate it was for the prudes.

            His nose was burrowed in soft, dark hair, and he took a deep breath of the familiar scent. Viktor felt Yuuri shudder and nuzzle into his collar. He pressed his lips to the other’s forehead and let his eyes close for a second. Yuuri was still shorter than him and with his weight loss he felt absolutely tiny in Viktor’s arms. He knew they had to part eventually (stupid airports and their flow of judgmental flyers). Yuuri began wriggling to Viktor’s dismay, which meant that their embrace was coming to an end.

            “Ah, we should…” Yuuri’s voice was muffled the chest his face was smooshed against, but he cleared his throat nonetheless as a signal for Viktor to loosen his hold. He did so reluctantly, biting his tongue to keep from complaining when Yuuri pulled away and left him cold. His hand still had a grip on Yuuri’s coat sleeve, but let go when he realized it kept the other still.

 _Pull back that clinginess_ , Viktor reprimanded himself. He turned back to his luggage and squeaked when he realized that Makkachin was watching them with barely restrained whimpers.

            “Makka! Oh, I’m so sorry.” He scrambled over to the pup and held up the kennel. “Yuuri, meet Makkachin, the second best thing to exist in the world.”

            “Second?” Yuuri asked as he approached the poodle hesitantly. He stuck a finger through the kennel cage and smiled when Makkachin lapped at his finger.

            “You’re the first, of course,” Viktor grinned as a familiar flush came to Yuuri’s cheek. Some things didn’t change.

            “And of course you’d go on vacation and come back with a dog,” Yuuri huffed before picking up some of Viktor’s luggage. “ _And_ you still don’t know how to pack essentials. Four bags, Viktor?”

            “I was there for two weeks! And color coordination is _always_ on the clock, Yuuratchka.”

            It was a familiar banter that they fell into naturally. The drive to Viktor’s apartment was lacking in the pensive silence they’d both feared would take place. Makkachin’s cheerful yips helped, as well.

            “Are you sure you don’t want Makka in the kennel?” Viktor asked as the puppy lounged in his lap.

            “Poodles don’t shed, right? It’ll be fine. This car is used anyway,” Yuuri shrugged. Viktor quirked an eyebrow when a hand slipped from the steering wheel to stroke the puppy’s head.

            “Of course, nothing to do with the fact that you _like my puppy_.”

            “Oh, I do,” Yuuri grinned, glancing over at Viktor when they came to a red light, “more than I like its owner, actually.”

            “Mean!” Viktor gasped, cradling Makkachin to his chest. “I’m not letting my beautiful child near such a cruel man.”

            In a show of utter betrayal, the poodle wriggled and whined for Yuuri to pet him again. Traitor.

            “I don’t think you have much of a choice. It must be my animal magnetism,” Yuuri bit his lip when Viktor levelled him with a horrified look.

            “Yuuri, _no_ , at least pretend to be cool.”

            “What do you mean, _pretend?_ I’m cool!”

            Neither of them could keep a straight face at that, and they burst into giggles. Viktor couldn’t help the fondness that warmed his chest. He’d missed this so damn much. Beyond Yuuri’s ragged appearance, he was still the same soft spoken spaz that Viktor had always loved.

            _I love him, don’t I?_ Viktor mused, not particularly fazed by the discovery. It was obvious that Yuuri was his number one. In truth, he’d realized it years before, when he was bursting with hormones and melodrama. _That_ had been an ordeal, filled with scribbled journals and poetry of taboo pseudo incest. A younger Viktor had been scared, but not anymore. He couldn’t imagine a life without the boy he’d grown with- could argue that the _only_ reason he’d grown was because of Yuuri. Without him it was a world on the ice, skating for nothing but victory, a nightmare that plagued him for the past year.

            Things were different now, he knew that. Yuuri had been jaded to Viktor’s tactile touching, but now- well. Viktor couldn’t help “accidentally” stroking the other’s hand whenever Yuuri reached to pet Makkachin. The responding shiver was worth everything in the world.

            He was blissfully enjoying his teasing before jerking forward when Yuuri slammed on the brakes at a yellow light. Viktor made a face at the teenager.

            “You could have totally made that,” He huffed, rubbing his bony collarbone.

            “Cop,” Yuuri muttered and pointed to the corner of the street where a grumpy officer sat on a motorcycle.

            “So? The probability that he’d go after you for speeding up a little isn’t worth thinking about.”

            “Well I can’t risk it,” Yuuri said carefully.

            “What? Has there been an increase in minority assault cases?” Viktor asked, suddenly concerned.

            “…Uh, well- possibly. But that’s not the reason,” Yuuri muttered, shifty eyed.

            “Then why are you- oh, god.” Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’re _seventeen!_ _Shit,_ how could I forget? You don’t even have your license!”

            “I drive fine!” Yuuri retorted defensively, “I just hate taking the taxis, and there’s waiting for the bus and the subways-“

            “ _Whose car even is this?”_ Viktor squawked, irrationally wondering if Yuuri was now a hardened criminal that engaged in grand theft auto.

            “It’s registered under Yakov,” Yuuri admitted.

            “He let you do this?! What if you got hurt?” Viktor was going to have a heart attack. He was going to die in a car with Yuuri illegally behind the wheel and Yuuri would go to _jail_ because he was doing _illegal things_.

            “Viktor,” Yuuri groaned, “I’m the safest driver out of all of us.”

            “You call this safe?” Viktor was being petulant now, he knew that. It was just disheartening to have missed such a big step in Yuuri’s life. Driving was something they’d promised to learn to do _together_. Yuuri had always been in the car when Viktor first learned, and he’d planned to do the same for the other. Not to mention, he hadn’t thought Yuuri had the balls to break the law. He’d always known _everything_ about the younger boy- down to his fears and dislikes and which leg wasn’t as flexible as the other. It was a surprise, is all.

            “Yes, this is safe,” Yuuri tone was curt, “safer than your driving, anyway.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Viktor smiled sheepishly when Yuuri shot him a look. Viktor’s driving was notoriously terrible.

            “You tried to eat scorching hot _borscht_ while on the _freeway_ on the coast of St. Petersburg!”

            “It was delicious, and I was cold. Did you die? No!”

“Your front bumper _scraped the divider twice_ ,” Yuuri was struggling to keep up his irritation, Viktor could tell by the small smile on his face. “We almost went flying into the sea over some borscht.”

            “It was really fun though, you have to admit.” Viktor giggled, nearly choking when Yuuri swerved into a sharp turn to shut him up. For a second he thought Yuuri’s reaching hand was coming to comfort him, but instead it dropped onto Makkachin’s head for a small pat. He couldn’t helping whining, “ _Yuuri!”_ at the snub.

            They arrived at the apartment complex minutes later. For a moment, Viktor panicked. Had he cleaned the apartment up? Was there old food smelling up the place? Then he remembered that he was Yuuri, not a stranger who would judge him shallowly. Yuuri judged him for much more complex reasons, at least. Like his inability to deal with crying people (although Yuuri wasn’t any better at it).

            “Thank you for chauffeuring me, my little criminal,” Viktor hummed just to see Yuuri’s affectionate eye roll and barely suppressed smile. Together they shuffled around his baggage and made the trek up to the apartment (after letting the poor poodle go to the bathroom of course). Almost immediately upon entering, Makkachin bolted to Viktor’s bedroom, probably wanting to continue the nap that had begun in the car.

 _Or_ , Viktor liked to hope Makka was the ultimate wing-dog that wanted to give him and Yuuri some alone time.

            Viktor swiveled around in time to see Yuuri awkwardly inching towards the door. The Japanese teenager froze when he was spotted, laughing nervously.

            “I just thought you’d like some alone time,” Yuuri mumbled, the cheerful atmosphere sinking into something heavier.

            “I’d like some time with you.” Viktor stepped forward, noting the instinctive step back from Yuuri. Things had been going so great, what was different between now and the car? Although, with Yuuri’s mind involved there could have been a hundred things that had gone bad. “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” Yuuri said quickly, avoiding eye contact. Viktor sighed and rubbed a hand down his face as he contemplated how to deal with the situation. Forcing Yuuri would backfire and make him bolt. Being too malleable with the conversation would end in Viktor getting distracted by Yuuri’s avoidant techniques.

 _He’s like the world’s most anxious safety box of feelings_ , Viktor grumbled internally. It was best to wing it, then. The facts were there: Yuuri had been actively avoiding him for a year, he was also a very anxious person, and when Viktor did manage to confront Yuuri about something- it usually ended in a massive explosion of tears and feelings.

            “You know, Yuuri,” Viktor drawled, coming even closer, “I’m a little hurt.”

            “Ah?” The younger boy hazarded a wary glance up.

            “We haven’t seen each other in _months_ , and I’ve been so lonely.” He crept closer as he spoke, carefully stepping at a steady pace so as not to set off the other. “You haven’t even offered me a massage…or _food_ , or taken care of me. I’m tired and weak.”

            He threw in a pout for emphasis.

            “Oh.” Yuuri had an endearingly shocked expression. He’d obviously been expecting Viktor to demand explanations, and as a result his stiff shoulders relaxed. “You’re- I can get us something? What would you like? Food? Are you feeling okay?”

            Viktor shook his head at the barrage of questions, not to be distracted from his goal so easily.

            “I want you to come here,” He asked, stopping a few feet from Yuuri, “I need you to come here.”

            “What?” Yuuri looked stricken, and Viktor didn’t blame him. While Viktor was a fan of spontaneity and surprises, Yuuri had always preferred certainty. He was the sort that made plans for plans and back up plans for those. A silence stretched between them but Viktor resisted the request to supply more information. He firmly stood his ground and tilted his head insistently.

            “Please,” Viktor added after another beat passed. Ages passed before Yuuri finally moved. He took a hesitant step at first. Viktor rocked forward but managed to hold himself from rushing to him. It had to be Yuuri who closed the distance.

            Finally, _finally_ , Yuuri took the final steps (in rapid succession, all at once- as if pushing himself into Viktor’s arms). Viktor set his hands on Yuuri’s upper arms and paused a moment to look over him, closely now. _I’m going to feed him so much,_ Viktor thought to himself vehemently, _I’ll buy him piroshki and syrniki and everything_. Yuuri was watching him quizzically, waiting for an explanation for the odd behavior.

            “Yuuratchka,” He breathed, tightening his hold on the other, “I missed you.”

            Yuuri’s bottom lip wobbled and Viktor let one arm go to stroke his cheek, brush a thumb along his bottom lip. It was an intimate touch, one he’d done plenty of times before- but never with the intent he did now. Before, it had always been teasing, or calming. It was a statement, now. A declaration.

            “I’m sorr-,” Viktor muffled the apology with his thumb, pressing plush lips together gently.

            “I missed you,” He repeated, sliding the hand away from Yuuri’s face and resting it on the other’s chest (his heart was thumping as quickly as Yuuri’s, a _thumpthumpthump_ that stuttered and stumbled whenever either one of them spoke).

            “I…” Yuuri’s hands were twitching at his side. He was restraining himself (he hadn’t always kept himself from Viktor, he used to be open and giving, and unashamed of his affection). “I can’t.”

            “You can,” Viktor nudged Yuuri to lean in slightly, centimeters separating their faces.

            “I can’t,” Yuuri said once more, but his voice shook. They were repeating themselves an awful lot lately, weren’t they? But that had always been their dance. Going again, and again, until the stubbornness finally wore down and the truth came spilling out.

            “I’m right here, and it’s been six months since we’ve seen each other, and I’ve forgotten the sound of your laughter and I don’t know what song is stuck in your head, and I _miss you_ ,” Viktor forced out, hoping that the tremor in his hands would stop. It always sucked having to reach into his gut and pull out what it was housing, but he had to. Hiding behind shallow smiles worked almost always, until _warm-scared-Yuuri_ eyes peered into his soul and begged for more.

            “Vitya, you’re crying,” Yuuri whispered. Was he? _Oh_ , Viktor felt a salty tear slide against the seam of his mouth, _I’m crying_. He leaned into the gentle hand that came up to his cheek, starved for the affection that had been cruelly denied for so long.

            “You’re making me cry.” Viktor regretted the words when guilt flashed on Yuuri’s face, but he couldn’t help it. Yuuri made him cry; he’d left and shut him out and Viktor couldn’t even hate him. He loved him so much it hurt.

            “You never cry, though,” Yuuri mumbled, and it was such a _Yuuri_ thing to say that Viktor barked out a laugh. God, _this_ _idiot_. They’re both idiots. Here Viktor was, crying about his hurt feelings while simultaneously trying to convey his other feelings, and Yuuri, meanwhile, was standing like a cornered mule refusing to communicate.

            “I’m pissed off that you _left_ , Yuuri.” The words flung themselves from his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been trying to be patient, and kind, but it was _hard_. “You left me, and I needed you.”

            “I didn’t-“

            “Picking up when I’m drunk doesn’t count. I was miserable. You were supposed to be by my side, and you did everything to avoid it. So yes, I’m crying.” He was aware how bitter he sounded, how childish it was, but he needed to say it because clearly, Yuuri wasn’t going to.

            “I left for you!” Yuuri snapped back, jerking away from Viktor’s hold. “It’s always been for you!”

            “How in the hell could this have been for me?” Viktor’s calm was all but gone now, replaced by the whirling emotions he’d tamped down into a forgotten box. “What did I do? Was this a lesson? Did I hurt you?”

            “We’re brothers!” Yuuri finally yelled, voice cracking and tears spilling. “We’re fucking _brothers_!”

            It threw Viktor for a loop and he stared at the other, befuddled in a way only Yuuri could make him. “What?”

            _Am I part Japanese? Is Yuuri my long lost birth brother and I’ve wanted to engage in actual incest this whole time?_ It was a ridiculous line of thought, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation for Yuuri’s outburst.

            “We’re men, and we’re legally brothers.” Yuuri’s wretched expression speared Viktor. “And everything you ever wanted will be _gone_.”

            “You’re not making any sense,” Viktor clenched his teeth. “How do those facts result in that outcome?”

            “Just think for once in your life,” Yuuri’s tears still leaked sluggishly, “what happened to Vasili when he came out as gay two years ago?”

            “What does…?” Viktor stomach bottomed out as he recalled the horrid event. The bloodied form of their distant acquaintance in a non-descript alley, barely breathing, scarred with slurs and forever marked as a _rooster._

            _I’m so stupid_ , he thought numbly, _how could I fucking forget?_

            It was easy to sneak around for _him_. He was always travelling, country to country, for either competition or for pleasure. He had friends around the globe in the most progressive of countries. He was _Viktor Nikiforov_ , and sure there had been rumors divulged by the hungry media, but it was always ignored. It wasn’t like he brought any of it back to Russia. The men he’d slept with had been open with their sexuality, living in a time and a place that fostered such pride.

            But this wasn’t _France_ , or _Switzerland_ , or even England. It was Russia, disbanded and conservative Soviet Union, and Yuuri’s whole life was here, a life of fear and self-hatred that never had the chance to grow. Yuuri had never bonded with skaters from around the world at various championships, how would he have been exposed to the cultures differing from their own?

            And what if he did learn? Would the world ignore their upbringing? If they ran off, would Russia come for them? Would their sponsors? Where would they go?

            It was like having every dream slowly crushed in front of his eyes. Yuuri saw the moment it clicked for Viktor and fell silent, waiting for the processing to take its course.

            “It isn’t fair,” Viktor whispered, “it isn’t… we should have this- we deserve this.”

            “No, we… _I’m_ … wrong. This is wrong.” It didn’t sound like Yuuri speaking, and Viktor pretended it wasn’t. “I’m fucked up, and I shouldn’t have made you like this. I need to get help or- or something to fix this. I’m not going to ruin you-“

            “Why are you talking like that?” Viktor insides felt rearranged and sore. “Why are you making this seem like it’s disgusting or something?”

            “Because I’m disgusting.”

            “Stop.” He was going to be sick. He felt nausea bubble up his throat but kept it down. “Just, stop.”

            “I should leave. I’m sorr-“

            “Who told you that?”

            “What?” Yuuri took a step back when Viktor stepped forward.

            “Who told you that you’re disgusting?” He kept his voice low to keep from snarling.

            “What does it matter? Everyone and no one.” Yuuri turned to leave, but was stopped by Viktor grabbing his hand.

            “It _matters_ because I’m no different!” Viktor voice echoed in the silent apartment, “Do you think I’m disgusting? Am I an abomination?”

            “You’re… you’re not-“

            “I _am_ and I always have been. I’ve slept with men before you even knew how to deal with your own boner. So am I disgusting? I can’t get it up for a girl, should I take drugs? Maybe that’ll help.” He was going too far, he knew that- but it needed to be said. The growing shock on Yuuri’s face told him more than the boy had uttered in the last decade.

            He’d failed Yuuri.

            _Where was I when he thought he was alone?_ Viktor asked himself as he gripped a clammy hand with his, _where was I to protect him from this toxic world?_

            Then the dams were broken, and Yuuri was sobbing harder than ever. They clutched each other and Viktor pressed his lips to the other’s heated forehead, felt his shirt soak with tears. He hadn’t realized he was whispering until minutes later, tuning in to his own mouth’s flowing reassurances ( _“You’re perfect.”, “This is right.”, “It’s going to be okay.”)._

            It was a blur. Somehow, they ended up on the couch with Yuuri’s head cushioned against Viktor’s chest. It was like coming out of a horrible nap, one that had stretched too long into the evening (the kind that pressed against the back of your eyes and made your tongue curl from the bitter dry sour in your mouth, your body stiff like you’d died and been jolted awake). Viktor stared at the ceiling with a dazed expression, mentally exhausted. Yuuri was no better, although he wasn’t crying anymore.

            “Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, feeling the younger boy shift against him and glance up. He looked down at him, licking his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I-,”

            “Just,” Yuuri interrupted wearily, sitting up slowly, “don’t. It’s not your fault.”

            “It _is_. You don’t know how different the world is, it’s not like this. You shouldn’t ever be scared, you should be…” He didn’t finish his sentence, unable to with Yuuri’s somber eyes boring into him.

            “I should be, what? Proud? Happy?” He scoffed. Viktor couldn’t help flinching at the bitterness present in those words. This wasn’t something a long crying session could fix. “I’m tired of this. My head hurts, and I think I’m dehydrated.”

            “I’m going to get a chest cold from this soaked shirt,” Viktor joked weakly, not bothering to dodge the halfhearted swat sent his way. “I’ll get you some water. Um.”

            “What?”

            “Could you…get off?” Viktor asked hesitantly. They both looked at their precarious position, which had evolved into Yuuri straddling his hips.

            “R-right. Sorry,” Yuuri said quickly, scrambling off. Viktor almost pulled him back to chase away that followed. Instead, he grimaced at his shirt and rolled off the couch.

            “Don’t go anywhere,” Viktor warned after returning from the kitchen and handing off the glass of water, “I’m going to get changed. This isn’t over.”

            Yuuri just wrinkled his nose at him and sipped at his water, playing the role of petulant youth for once.

            Viktor strode to his room and shut the door behind him. He sucked in a big breath and held it for a moment, clenching his eyes shut and forcing the tension out of his body. This wasn’t what he’d imagined his return to Russia would be. There was no point in dwelling, however. They needed to work through this, he wouldn’t let it all crumble because of the world’s deficiencies.

            He peeled off his shirt and threw it to the bed. He idly wondered where Makkachin had hid during their shitfest. Maybe the kitchen? Had he fed the dog?

 _It’s been two hours and I’m already the world’s worst dog owner,_ Viktor thought to himself despondently. He jumped when the door creaked open, turning back to blink at Yuuri. His skin prickled at the wave of chilly air.

            “I fed Makkachin some food I found in your luggage, he looked hungry,” Yuuri offered, eyes drifting down Viktor’s bare chest. “You’re taking a while, everything alright?”

            “I am? Sorry, just got distracted by my phone,” Viktor lied through his teeth, running a hand through his hair. He could feel every second of the heated gaze directed his way. It made it hard to breathe, hard to _think_.

 _No- no succumbing,_ his mind growled, _we need to work this out!_

            Yuuri licked his lips unconsciously when he looked back up at Viktor’s face.

 _There’s other ways to work things out though_ , Viktor countered desperately. His throat was tight. Unsurprisingly, so were his pants.

            “Yuuri? Could you…” The words died in his throat when a hand brushed down his chest. His knees went weak, _this boy was going to kill him_. Yuuri jerked his hand back immediately, flushing red.

            “S-sorry! I don’t know what- mmf!”

            There were lips on lips, that’s what Viktor’s frazzled brain could supply him with. He was kissing Yuuri. _He was kissing Yuuri_. _Fuck, fuck_.

            “Fuck,” He said out loud, the words slurred against the Yuuri’s lips. Viktor felt hands thread into his messy hair and press into his scalp. “Fuck, _Yuuri_.”

            Yuuri didn’t respond in words so much, just gasped and pressed their bodies closer. Their tongues slid against each other, softly at first, devolving into rough sweeps as they moved together. They went tumbling onto his bed, Viktor grunting when he felt a forgotten shoe digging into his back. Damn it, he should have cleaned his room before he’d left on vacation. Yuuri barely let him recover, pressing him down into the sheets once the space was cleared.

            Viktor nipped Yuuri’s lip, thrilled with the whine he was rewarded with. It was a dream, this had to be a dream. Yuuri rocked his hips down and it became the most realistic dream he’d ever had. He tugged at the obnoxiously large sweatshirt Yuuri was draped in. _This is an emergency, and he should be naked._

            Somehow, their fumbling worked in tandem and they managed to fling off a majority of their clothing. Each level of success had a few minutes of enthusiastic kissing in between before the next article of clothing was discarded. His lips stung, and he loved it. Yuuri’s glasses had fallen off at some point, giving him access to dazed eyes with pupils blown wide. It was like the last switch of rational thought had been ripped off its hinges, leaving Viktor helpless to fight with his primal need.

            He rolled them over immediately, his silver hair a curtain framing Yuuri’s startled face. Viktor took a moment to memorize everything about Yuuri Katsuki. His puffy lips, his heaving chest, his grasping hands. His appreciation was cut short when he was dragged back down for another kiss. Viktor groaned helplessly when thick thighs pressed against his hips and Yuuri rolled his body against his.

 _I’m going to die, this is how I die,_ he lamented.

            “ _Vitya_ ,” Yuuri threw his head back and moaned when Viktor let his hips grind down, only the thin cloth of their boxers separating them now.

 _Correction, I’m dead. I’ve been dead. Satan is successfully seducing me_.

            He did it again, and again, his body throbbing with pleasure at the delicious sounds that left Yuuri’s lips. He wanted to do more, to rip away their boxers and lick Yuuri to the core- but it wasn’t the time. This was enough, for now. Viktor shuddered when nails dug into his shoulders and Yuuri wrapped his legs around him completely.

            “I can’t for much longer,” Viktor gasped into Yuuri’s throat, teeth dragging along the frantic pulse that beat there. Their bodies met together at a desperate pace, muscles quivering at the constant onslaught of sensation. “I’m-”

            “A- _Ah!”_ Yuuri jolted, back arching sharply and legs clasping so tightly around Viktor that he swore he felt his hips creak from the force. It sent Viktor right over the edge with him, and their bodies pulsed together in completion.

            His arms gave out shortly after, and he collapsed onto the other, face immediately hiding into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. Sweaty, sated, and exhausted. It took him some time to catch his breath, Yuuri was stroking his hair by then.

 _He always did have great stamina,_ Viktor mused when he leaned up to kiss Yuuri, sweetly now. When the other pulled away, he chased after his lips, managing a few more butterfly pecks before he was tugged back.

            “I want more,” Viktor complained, trying again despite the insistent grip on his hair. Yuuri’s gentle giggle made him numb to the sting in his scalp, and he pounced.

            “My lips are getting chapped,” Yuuri managed to say between kisses, yelping when Viktor moved down and bit his neck softly. “What are you, a dog?”

            “Arf, arf,” Viktor licked the bitten skin and grinned when Yuuri flushed. This was amazing, he felt amazing, the world was great, there was nothing bad in existence and life was wonderful.

            Except his underwear, that was awful. He sat up slowly and began taking it off, stopping when Yuuri made an alarmed noise.

            “I’m taking it off for that,” Viktor pointed to the wet spot. “It feels gross.”

            “Oh,” Yuuri let out a sigh of relief, “you’re right.”

            "Of course I am,” Viktor teased, shimmying off the underwear at last and flinging it in the general direction of his laundry pile. He reached over and helped Yuuri with his as well, wiping them both off while he was at it. He collapsed on the bed once more, wrapping himself around Yuuri’s now completely nude form.

            “Viktor?” Yuuri sounded nervous again, to which Viktor responded by running a hand down his cheek.

            “I’m just cold,” He soothed, “and tired. Let’s sleep, I’m exhausted.”

            It did the trick and Yuuri settled once more, letting Viktor cling to his heart’s content. Their conversation wasn’t over, just temporarily paused by orgasms. It would be continued after a very necessary nap.

            It didn’t take long for Viktor’s eyes to slide shut. The stress of air travel, emotional crying sessions, and long-awaited romance was very exhausting. He dreamt of Yuuri’s gentle smile and warm embrace.

 

 

 

 

            He was alone when he woke up.

***

            “You’re here! Get on the ice, practice started-”

            “Where’s Yuuri?” Viktor interrupted, not bothering to hear out Yakov, “I need to talk to him and he’s not picking up his phone. Nobody was at the house either, and I tried Lilia’s place and it was empty. It’s been three days and I can’t find him.”

            “Yuuri?” Yakov frowned at Viktor, “Why are you looking for Yuuri?”

            “What do you mean _why_?” Viktor snapped, “I just am, it’s not something worth asking about. Where is he?”

            “Vitya,” Yakov’s voice became uncharacteristically soft, which immediately set Viktor on edge. “You can’t tell me you haven’t heard?”

            “Heard what? You’re not making any sense.” Viktor’s patience was running thin, he needed to find the other boy before their progress faded to nothing.

            “Yuuri went to University in Detroit on a dance scholarship. He left two days ago.”

 _Oh_ , Viktor thought faintly, _of course he did._

 

 

End Part 1


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited reunion.

**_4 Years Later_ **

****

**_[December 11_ ** **_ th _ ** **_, 2012] Viktor: 24 years old Yuuri: 22 years old_ **

**_Post Sochi Grand Prix Final_ **

            _“Vitya,” Yuuri laughed, struggling to get away from him. “Stop it! I’m trying to cook!”_

_“But why?” Viktor whined, nuzzling into the shorter boy’s neck. “And how could you pay more attention to a chicken breast than me at any given time?”_

_“I’m hungry, and I’ll eat you,” Yuuri warned, brandishing the spatula in a threatening manner (he wasn’t threatening at all). Viktor snorted, leaning over to lick off the sauce the clung to the utensil, humming in approval._

_“I’d taste pretty good with this sauce,” He grinned. Yuuri turned a shade of red that made the tomato sauce look like an imposter. Mission success._

_“Just set the table, you dork,” Yuuri mumbled, a fond smile on his lips nonetheless._

_“Anything for you, even if I’m grossly neglected,” Viktor opened the cupboard, jolting when Yuuri reached over and grabbed his arm. “Yuuri?”_

_“Viktor,” Yuuri murmured, “I want you.”_

_“What? But you just told me to—”_

_“I want you,” Yuuri repeated, “I can’t live without you.”_

_Viktor stared at the younger boy quizzically, not understanding the odd behavior. He frowned as he noticed Yuuri’s blurry face. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the other but it did nothing. “Yuuri, what’re you doing?“_

_“Vitya, I can’t live without you,” Yuuri repeated, “I’ll die without you. I miss you.”_

_“Stop!“Viktor stumbled back as Yuuri’s voice warped to a child’s pitch. There was no face to look at anymore, just a flesh colored blur._

_“Vitya. Vitya. Vityaaa.”_

_“Stop it!” He cried, “Stop saying my name!”_

           

 

            “Viktor!”

            He jolted awake, choking on the whimper lodged in his throat. Yakov stood over him with a frown.

            “Get up. Your nap has gone on long enough. The banquet starts soon,” Yakov grunted, not mentioning the other’s disheveled state. Viktor nodded dazedly, wiping the sweat from his neck as he sat up. He shuddered as Yuuri’s disembodied and youthful voice echoed in his skull, a reminder that would stay with him for the rest of the night probably.

            It was his punishment, he knew that. The lingering guilt of his wouldn’t resolve any time soon, not until he addressed the cause.

            Yuuri.

            Four years and not a word, not a letter or a call, they’d lost complete contact. Yakov hadn’t heard a thing either. Yuuri had changed his phone number and with it, disappeared like scentless smoke. He’d even discontinued use of his emails (Viktor knew because he’d gotten so desperate he’d started emailing the boy to figure out where he was, only to get an “Error Email Not Received” message returned every time). No social media, nothing. He wasn’t even in the news. Yuuri Katsuki ceased to exist and only Viktor bothered to remember him.

            Truth be told, if he’d dug a little harder he would have found Yuuri. He hadn’t, in the end. Viktor stopped right at the edge, a year in, when he realized he could sift through the Dance scholarship recipients of major Detroit Universities. He’d brought up the first list of names, skimmed it for a few seconds, and then shut off his computer.

            Why bother looking for someone who didn’t want to be found? He had his limits and he knew when he wasn’t wanted. Yuuri didn’t want him. Yuuri had left him.

            _Yuuri had left_ _him_.

            The boy hadn’t fled to escape just Russia. He ran from Viktor (his desires, his wants, his love).

            So Viktor stopped. The Viktor Nikiforov gave up Yuuri (his wonderful friend-lover- _something_ , the best human around, the perfect soul in a horrid world). And there wasn’t one second that he didn’t regret it. He’d cut his hair the moment he gave up (Yakov had been furious to find him drunk off his ass, crying ugly tears and holding shaky scissors). He’d stepped out once more and the world forgot his brother (not a single headline about the missing constant from Viktor’s side, his blood had boiled, Yakov hadn’t blinked, damage control executed).

            “Get dressed,” Yakov threw Viktor’s suit at him, already heading out the door. “If you’re more than thirty minutes late, I’ll have Yuri come get you.”

            Viktor’s throat tightened at the similar name ( _“No Viktor, it’s Yuuri, you have to extend the ‘u’! I’m Japanese, you know!”)._ Yakov meant Plisetsky, the small brat that was barreling through the competitions as well as Viktor’s patience. Thirteen years old and already winning gold at his for Junior Grand Prix Final, he reminded Viktor of himself. Nothing like Yuuri though. Plisetsky was brash, boiling with rage to hide any semblance of human emotion.

            _What a gremlin_ , he thought humorously, pulling on his clothes. He fiddled with his hair for a solid twenty minutes, delicately brushing it this way and that (he had to get the part _just right_ or else it looked horrid and his forehead would be gargantuan). He took a moment to make sure his hair was still as full as it was yesterday. When he wasn’t having nightmares about Yuuri they were about his slow descent into hair loss, finished with a patented “Yakov Hair Curtain”. He cried hardest on those nights.

            “Hurry up you idiot!” Yuri’s snarling voice was accompanied by two throttling kicks aimed at his hotel door. Had it already been thirty minutes? Ah, he spent too much time reminiscing like an old man.

            “Coming!” Viktor hummed, slipping on his shoes and pulling open the door. Yuri managed to sneer up at him, whirling around and stomping off without another word.

            He got in the elevator just in time, Yuri glaring at him and peeling his finger from the “Close Doors” button. _Little brat._

            The expectations for the banquet were the same: dozens of sponsors leering, stiff competitors smiling primly and offering insincere congratulations, Yakov scowling every time Viktor flirted a little too much. He suddenly missed his bed several times more when he stepped foot into the crowded room. Yuri managed to look even more constipated and disappeared from his side immediately (probably to go hide near the food and hiss at anyone that wasn’t offering a sponsorship).

            “Hey, you’re not as late as I thought you’d be,” Chris’ lips brushed his cheeks in affectionate greeting, his arm wrapping around Viktor’s shoulders.

            “Yakov and Yuri have been making it hard to be fashionable,” Viktor drawled, delicately plucking two champagne glasses from a passing waiter, offering one to Chris and sipping the other one.

            “You do look rough, bad nap?” Chris led them over to the snack table, farther from the masses.

            “You could say that,” Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when his mild headache throbbed at the back of his left eye. “Anything interesting happen lately?”

            It was a deflection, but Chris took it in stride.

            “So, I was with Ramone the other day strolling downtown, when he pulls me into an alley and gets on his knee. I’m thinking- oh no! And then, oh _yes_ -“

            “He proposed?” Viktor asked, shocked.

            “Of course not! It was a blowjob,” Chris threw his head back and laughed at Viktor’s unamused look. Chris began divulging too many details, as usual, and Viktor listened. The time flew by quickly after that (not for the first time, Viktor was grateful for Christoph’s existence).

           

 

            “So I say to him, why not both? And he- hey, no need to push,” Chris grunted, frowning at the passerby. He was ignored, as was Viktor, and they were jostled as a crowd began hoarding the center of the room.

            “What’s going on?” Viktor muttered curiously, standing on his tip toes to peer over and try to get a look into the eye of the storm.

            “Something _interesting_ , for once,” Chris tugged Viktor in with him, squeezing by other inquisitive attendees. The music was getting louder, switching from dulcet classical to throbbing Latin with a firm beat.

            This hadn’t ever happened before at a banquet. Viktor pushed along with Chris, excitement building in his stomach.

            “Sorry, sorry,” He murmured, pushing past the last body (a Thai skater that hadn’t ranked, Philip? Something of the sort), “Ah, what’s going …”

            _No_.

            “Go Yuuri!” The Thai skater cheered, waving around his phone like a mad man as the Japanese boy that had haunted Viktor’s dreams for the last four years twisted into a suggestive dance move.

            _No, no, no_.

            He felt his knees go weak, only Chris’s tight grip keeping him from falling.

            Yuuri looked….

 

            Amazing.

            His cheeks were flushed, mouth in a wide smile. He had filled out (even that horrific suit hugged the curves of his dancing body deliciously). Those thighs had gotten thicker. Christ, he looked so happy, so carefree.

            He hadn’t been like that for years. Not since they were children.

            They were watching, everyone was watching. He hated them, suddenly, everyone that wasn’t him. Years of waiting, of pining, of wishing he’d been _better_ , and now he had to share this moment with dozens of strangers that could never appreciate what they were witnessing.

            Yuuri did a backflip and dropped into a front split, Viktor stole someone’s champagne and downed it in one gulp.

            “Chris,” He whispered.

            “I know. Do you want to leave?” Chris jerked back at the offended look Viktor sent his way.

            “ _Leave_?” He hissed, “Are you crazy? That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”

            “Ah,” Chris’ eyebrows crawled up, “so…should I do something to help?”

            “I don’t know,” Viktor glanced back at Yuuri’s spinning form. “I just don’t want him running away after he sees me.”

            “Well, I can fix that,” Chris grinned.

 

 

            _What the fuck, Chris,_ Viktor twisted to stare at the man who had just pushed him into the circle, betrayal on his face.

            “Dance off!” Chris yelled, the Thai skater whistling next to him and generally _not helping the situation_.

            “No, I’m—” Viktor bit his tongue when strong hands wrapped around his waist and whirled him around, bringing him face to face with a very, very, drunk Yuuri, “—hi.”

            “S’been a while,” Yuuri hummed in his ear before spinning him to the fast-paced music.

            He couldn’t talk, his brain was broken, his mouth was sealed shut, and _Yuuri was holding him so close he could smell his cologne._

            “ _Bòzhe mòi (my god)_ ,” was all he could muster after the second time he was dipped, heart in his throat.

            “No,” Yuuri giggled, “just me.”

            _I love him,_ Viktor internally panicked. _I love him so much I’m going to die._

            He was distantly aware of people taking pictures, of Yuri Plisetsky’s disgusted squawks, Chris’ wolf whistles, and Yakov’s impending stroke. He couldn’t care less.

            Viktor was supposed to be angry. This whole reunion thing was meant to be dramatic, and passionate, and filled with tear stained kisses. But here he was doing the flamenco and was pleasantly buzzed with a wasted Japanese man in a sea of hollering people.

            “I’m…gonna dance so good for you,” Yuuri slurred when the music was winding down, in the middle of body rolling up against Viktor. “I’m gonna dance the _best_ for you, baby.”

            Viktor choked on air at the “baby” tacked on the end of Yuuri’s drunken promises. This was a dream, it had to be. This kind of shit didn’t just happen. He clung to Yuuri, fingers pressed into firm shoulders, their lips close enough to tickle. His mouth moved without his consent.

“Do it for me,” he was sober enough that his voice still went quiet with embarrassment when he added, “baby.”

            Yuuri’s face lit up and Viktor wanted to throw off all his clothes and offer himself up as tribute to keep that look on Yuuri’s face forever. He leaned up, ready to press their lips together (it’s been so _long_ , and his entire body remembered how wonderful it was and-).

            He was flung away at the last minute, stumbling back against a random stranger. Viktor blinked, lips still puckered as he struggled to stand straight. What…?

            Yuuri was stripping his clothes off, because _of course he was_.

            “Oh,” _shit,_ Viktor finished in his head grimly. Chris had found a pole. How had he found a pole?

            What happened next made him pinch himself no less than four times to check if he was having a stroke or a dream. Yuuri was pole dancing. _His Yuuri_ , adorable night-owl that hates early mornings and enjoys eating fried food and cries over other peoples’ dogs and-

            _Was he humping that pole?_

            “Ugh, gross,” Yuri muttered next to him, taking another picture on his phone. This was probably not appropriate for a thirteen year old. Yuuri began twerking upside down while Chris spun below him. _Yakov can deal with parental guidance,_ Viktor thought absentmindedly, his mouth dry.     

            He was sure that after pole dancing with his best friend, there was nothing else Yuuri could do to boggle his mind. And then _this_ happened:

            “Vikutoru,” Yuuri clung to him, nuzzling into his chest (and not so subtly grinding against him). His Japanese accent was surprisingly strong. Viktor hadn’t heard it so clearly in years. “I’m coming back to ice skating, you should…you should come to Detroit, we can skate together again and _live_ together!”

            He stared down at the other with a combination of emotions best described as “scared-horny-nervous-hopeful-love-happy-confused”. He didn’t understand it either. He was too dazed to stop the Thai skater ( _“Phichit”_ according to Chris) from dragging Yuuri away and apologizing profusely. A beat passed, people were dispersing, and then he came back to life.

            “Wait!” He called, propelling forward and shaking off Chris’ concerned hand. Maybe he’d had a few too many flutes of champagne but he couldn’t let that stop him from getting Yuuri back. “Please-“

            “Viktor,” Chris said quietly, “they’re gone. Let’s get you back to your room.”

            “No, no, _no_ ,” Viktor moaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “He was _here,_ Chris, right here- he was-”

            “I know,” The Frenchman led him out of the banquet room gently, a comforting hand on his back.

            “But it’s not fair,” he blubbered (it wasn’t a pretty sight, luckily no one was around to take a picture of his red face), “he’s here! And not-but he was!”

            “Yes,” Chris agreed, “and you’ll see him again after you’ve sobered up.”

            “Yeah?” Viktor breathed out as he fell back on a soft mattress. Oh, they’d returned to his hotel room already? It was a nice bed. What a good bed. Makkachin wasn’t there though, and neither was Yuuri, so it was actually a mediocre bed. “I want him.”

            “Yeah,” Chris began tucking in Viktor. “We all know.”

            “I need him,” Viktor sighed, feeling his eyes slide shut.

            “Mhm.”

            “I haven’t been surprised in so long.” It was the last thing he remembered before the sweet whisper of sleep cradled his mind.

 

 

 

 

              He was alone when he woke up.   

***

            “Viktor,” Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose, “get out of bed.”

            “No,” he stated numbly, curled into a fetal position and hidden under five layers of blankets.

            “Stop being so-“

            “He was _here!”_ Viktor sat up, his voice echoing in the room. “I had him in my arms, and he’s gone again, why doesn’t anyone know his name? Why? He’s _Yuuri Katsuki_ , and the world acts like he never existed!”

            Viktor was past the stage of sadness, he was just angry now, irritated at every person in the world for not chaining him to Yuuri as soon as they were in the same room together. Apparently, Yuuri wasn’t staying at the same hotel as the other skaters. Apparently, Yuuri’s flight had left that morning. _Apparently_ , the universe hated Viktor and didn’t want him to ever be happy.

            “You’ll see him again,” Yakov comforted awkwardly. “Coach Cialdini mentioned he was returning to skating, although twenty two is a late return.”

            “It’s too long, that’s a year of waiting and he’ll forget about me again and I need to find him–“

            “Hey dipshit,” Yuri spoke up from the doorway, “Pig-face has Instagram now.”

***

            _Unbelievable_ , Viktor sighed, _he finally gets Instagram and the only picture he has is of a random dog from a bad angle._

It was a cute picture, though. He could imagine Yuuri bashfully ducking behind a tree to get a picture of a poodle that looked vaguely like Makkachin. Or maybe not, maybe Yuuri had been busy twerking in the middle of a park and had taken the picture of the dog as an afterthought. Who knew with that man?

            Luckily for Viktor, he had one of the best support systems in the country. Said support system (Chris and a reluctant Yuri) had linked him to Phichit’s Instagram which was single handedly the best thing to ever exist.

            Every time Phichit posted, his phone would alert him. No post got by him, especially when ninety percent of Phichit’s Instagram included Yuuri in some way. He still had the World championships to win, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cyber stalk Yuuri and annoy all his rink mates while he did it.

            “He still likes strawberry ice cream!” He would exclaim during a water break, shoving his phone in everyone’s face.

            “He can do a Triple Salchow now!”

            “He got a haircut!”

            “Doesn’t he look great in this color?”

            “Do you think he’d-“

            “Viktor,” Yuri snarled, “if you open your mouth again I’m kicking you in the face with my skates on.”

            “…” Viktor pouted down at his phone, fiddling with it.

            Yuri sighed in relief, uncapping his bottle of water.

            “He really needs to get rid of that tie,” Viktor muttered, squawking when a full bottle of water slammed into the back of his head.

***

**_3 Months Later_ **

****

**_[March 13 th, 2013] Viktor: 25 years old Yuuri: 22 years old_ **

**_Post World Championships_ **

 

            “ _Viktor!”_ Yakov exploded with rage, shouting into the phone. “ _Where are you?!_ ”

            “Boarding a plane,” Viktor said cheerfully, his most recent and final gold medal for the season still hanging around his neck.

            “ _The banquet- the exhibition!”_ Viktor could clearly visualize the bulging veins on Yakov’s temple. Yuri would have to deal with it now.

            “Looks like it’s time to shut off my phone. I will see you soon, _dasvidania_!” Viktor hung up before Yakov could burst his ear drum, pocketing his phone and sinking back in his seat. The flight time to Detroit was only a few hours ( _thank you_ Canadian World Championships). This time, Makkachin was with him. For once in his life he’d planned a thing (said thing was eloping to Detroit to reunite with Yuuri Katsuki, also known as perfect human being too blessed for this world, even if he _had_ broken Viktor’s heart and stomped it into small, indiscriminant pieces).

            What would Yuuri say when he showed up at his doorstep? Viktor closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

Maybe his arms would open and he’d throw himself into Viktor’s arms, clutch him tightly and weep apologies. In response, Viktor would let one stoic tear fall. Yuuri’s voice would catch and their kisses would taste of salted caramel joy. Yes, that would be good.

            Or maybe Yuuri would just stare at him in that startled “what in the hell” way that he used to always did, unable to move. Viktor would ease him in, then. He would smile and walk in like nothing was wrong, possibly even make himself a cup of tea while Yuuri finished having his heart attack. They’d make out after tea. It was a good plan B.

            Or _maybe_ , Yuuri wouldn’t be at the door at all. Maybe it would be some nameless lover who would quiver with inadequacy when facing _Viktor Nikiforov_. Viktor would push his way in despite the man’s (or _woman’s_ ) protests, he would make himself right at home, and then he would wait until either the _ex-_ lover got out, or Yuuri came home. Not ideal, but a possible Plan C.

            Dozens of other possibilities ran through his head, and not a single one made him frown. Even the most ridiculous of situations (Yuuri in the middle of putting out a fire with Viktor showing up and saving him, or _Viktor_ showing up, catching on fire, and then Yuuri saves him) had happy endings. He felt ridiculously pleased and his giddiness was clear to even the flight attendants (who blushed prettily when he smiled at them and thought of Yuuri).

            When the plane was landing Viktor was floating on air, breezing by security. He’d gotten Yuuri’s address from Phichit, who had gladly given it to him when he realized Viktor was _Viktor Nikiforov_. Sometimes his popularity was a burden, and sometimes it got him all the things he wanted.

***

            Yuuri stared at the blank word document vacantly, the twitch in his eye synchronized with the flickering cursor that mocked him. Why did _dance majors_ have essays? It made no sense, absolutely none. It was his last year, he was graduating in six months and there was no motivation to do anything. He’d only remembered the four essays due in five hours when Phichit had mentioned them last night (he was on essay number three and hadn’t slept in over a day and it was almost _six in the fucking evening_ ).He made a frustrated noise and pushed himself away from the desk, standing to stretch.

            Phichit had gone out an hour ago (something about taking pictures of abandoned warehouses). Yuuri frowned at the clock. It was nearly dinner time and he deserved a break (no he didn’t).

            Nonetheless, he shuffled over to the fridge and squinted at the contents: two day old Chinese takeout and several packages of uncooked chicken breast. _Ugh_ , _I’m so sick of chicken_.

            Sadly, he couldn’t avoid eating it for long. With his return to the skating world, his dancer body had to change. Where his softer curves and fuller figure worked to his advantage in urban or pole dancing, it threw off his balance on the ice (and each fall on the ice damaged him incrementally). He was back to his competitive weight and had to maintain it. _Maintain being miserable_ , he grumbled in his head, slapping the raw chicken breast onto the board and seasoning it.

            As he cooked his unappetizing meal, he let his mind wander. It had been a few months since he’d gone with Phichit to the Grand Prix but for some reason he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Viktor had been there.

            Yuuri let out a sigh, flipping the chicken and searing the other side.

            Viktor and Yakov, along with the junior prodigy, won every gold medal available. He’d watched from afar, even cheered. He didn’t have any grudges against them. Therapy definitely helped with that.

            Therapy helped with a lot.

            It was rough at first. He hadn’t wanted help, wanted to figure out his own issues on his own. The thought of needing a therapist was ridiculous to him (he imagined the sneers of colleagues when they realized how mentally weak he was). Then Phichit happened and with him Coach Celestino.

            Becoming a social butterfly wasn’t his prerogative. Yuuri couldn’t change his personality on a whim and being an introverted workaholic was his main trait. The perk of being a dance major was finding other introverted workaholics, all bearing bruised feet like trophies. It was terrifying to open up to people who could so easily ruin him.  All it would take was one slip up and they could hate him forever, ridicule him at every turn. It took him a while to figure out that people weren’t regularly so cruel.

            He’d gone to his first Pride Parade three years ago. Now _that_ was scary. His palms had been damp and Phichit had gripped him as the floats went by and he shook so hard that his teeth clattered (his therapist had been proud, though). The second one was easier. He joined in on the third (pole dancing was an appreciated talent, even if he needed five shots to perform).

            He felt like some evolved creature compared to the mess he’d been when he came to Detroit all those years ago ( _“If you were a Pokémon you’d be a Feebas.” “Really, Phichit?” “What? It’s a compliment.”)._ The culture shock alone had sent him reeling. It wasn’t all great, there were still times he felt isolated or ignored, but with his rink mates by his side it eased the tenser moments of life. Sometimes he sat around and let himself be thankful that it hadn’t ended at seventeen for him.

            He was glad he made it out. Maybe he wasn’t depressed back then, but he had been _something_ , and it had been paralyzing. The stifling fear of having no escape, of being clamped into place by critical eyes and sneering judgements, it felt like the end of the world (but it wasn’t). His clearest regret was Viktor.

            It had been wrong of him. He knew that, it wasn’t like he was delusional enough to think everything he’d done to this point was out of altruistic kindness. No, he had been the selfish one that time. It had been the hardest thing, too (Viktor with long lashes and soft hands curled around him, reaching for him sleepily when he snuck away in the early hours of the morning).

            The smell of burning chicken jolted him out of his daze.

            “No, fuck!” Yuuri scrambled to turn off the gas, sighing when his pathetic attempts to salvage the chicken failed. _Damn it, Viktor_ , he grumbled to himself, _you’re not even here and you’re messing me up_. The fire alarm started screeching right about then.

            The jarring thumps against his door followed the alarm and he whirled around while trying to disperse the thick smoke in his kitchen. Was this his punishment? Was the world on a _ruin-Yuuri’s-day_ binge? He pursed his lips and stalked over to the door, the smell of burnt chicken making his eyes water. He hardly expected the door to burst open as soon as he turned the lock.

            It slammed right into his face (today was really not his day).

            He reeled back, stumbling and clutching his nose. _Breathe in,_ Yuuri tried to mediate his panicking body, _breathe out_. Who was in his house? _Breathe in_. Why was the person yelling like an idiot? _Breathe out._ The fire alarm wasn’t stopping but the smoke was dispersing. _Breathe in_ \- why was the stranger still fucking _yelling_?

            He blinked a few times to refocus on the intruder (who wasn’t Phichit and could possibly be a clumsy thief).

            It wasn’t a thief.

            It was Viktor.

            Yuuri forgot to breathe out.

***

            When he’d knocked on Yuuri’s alleged front door and heard the fire alarm, he didn’t think twice. Kicking in the front door seemed like a great idea at the time (firefighters did it, and he had the thighs of a seasoned ice skater- this would be _easy_ ). He hadn’t factored in the possibility that someone (Yuuri) had heard him knocking and was opening the door.

            _I thought your apartment was on fire and I had a plan for it,_ Viktor wanted to desperately say. Instead he was flapping his arms in a panic with Yuuri (sweet and confused and in pain) clutching his face and swaying on his feet. There wasn’t any fire and none of his loud questions were being answered. Then Yuuri (beautiful, so wonderful) made a strangled noise when he looked up and made eye contact.

            “Hi!” Viktor started shuffling forward for his welcome hug, only to catch a fainting Japanese man. “Oh.”

            That wasn’t good was it? Maybe he’d given Yuuri a concussion. He stepped back towards the nearby couch and gently lowered the unconscious man onto it. Viktor winced when he caught sight of the blooming bruise on Yuuri’s forehead and the bridge of his nose.

            _Way to make an entrance._

Yuuri began making snuffling noises, easing the fear that he was seriously injured from Viktor’s mind. He was just sleeping (hopefully). Viktor jumped when he felt a cold nose press against his hand.

            “Ah, Makkachin! Did you get help?” The poodle stared up at him, panting. “Good, because it would have been useless anyway. No fire! Just Yuuri.”

            He was grateful dogs couldn’t judge verbally, although Makkachin did look slightly embarrassed on his behalf.  Slumping to the floor, he let his head hang between his legs for a few miserable seconds. Despite popular belief, Viktor was not _always_ an airheaded ditz. He had his moments of clarity. Right now, it was clear he hadn’t thought this plan through at all. Yuuri was unconscious by his doing, splayed out on a coach, in an apartment that Viktor hunted down by charming an oblivious roommate.

            Something in the back of his mind whispered _stalker_ , but he ignored it. None of this was on purpose. _Most_ of it wasn’t. Viktor shook away his melancholy thoughts, pushing himself up to stand. Lingering over past mistakes would get him nowhere. He needed to make it up to Yuuri.

            _And he needs to do some explaining_. Viktor frowned at the slumbering man, twisting around and reaching to brush some hair from his face. There were dark circles under his eyes but his face had the barest remnants of stubble on it. _Lucky genetics_. It typically took a few days for Viktor’s face to look like an albino hedgehog. It never got so bad due to his meticulous facial regime, but the fact remained that he was Russian. At least he’d been spared from excessive body hair. A snarl of some sort echoed in the apartment. It took him a moment to realize it came from Yuuri’s stomach.

            “Little piggy is hungry, hm?” Viktor smiled, brushing a hand down Yuuri’s cheek once more before pulling away. Hopefully there was some food in the apartment, maybe he could cook something up. Food was always a good segue way into explaining a ridiculous situation.

***

            His face throbbed in steady beats that lured him from his comfortable, dark sleep. Yuuri groaned, lifting a hand to brush over his nose (which, _ow_ , _ow, ow_ , what was wrong with his face?). He peeled an eye open and glared at the ceiling, feeling not unlike a discombobulated doll that had been flung into a wall by a crying child. The stale smell of burnt chicken roused him from his pained stasis and he jerked up, looking around frantically.  Maybe it was just a hallucination. Sleep deprivation and smoke inhalation could easily have caused it. His forehead pulsed in agreement. Yes, just a hallucination.

            Yuuri absentmindedly ran a hand through Makkachin’s soft curls as the poodle nosed at his thigh insistently-

            Wait.

            He slowly looked down, staring at the dog.

            _This is- that’s- ohfuck,_ Yuuri froze, _Makkachin, this is Makkachin_.

            Standing so quickly made the room spin, but he wasn’t sure what to do with his body. He stumbled around, finding it hard to breathe once more (no burning food this time, though, which was a great upgrade). Was it possible to hallucinate the feel of a poodle’s curls? He desperately clung to that hope.

            Then Viktor poked his head out the kitchen and waved a dirty ladle at him.

            “Yuuri! It’s been awhile, you still like borscht? What am I saying, how could you not like borscht,” Viktor chuckled, disappearing back into the kitchen.

            _What the fuck_.

            Yuuri’s hands swung up and he checked his face, then his balance.

            “It’s not a stroke, then,” Yuuri said numbly, staring at his feet.

            “Yuuri, do you have any sour cream? I can’t seem to find it,” Viktor’s voice carried to him again.

_Why couldn’t it have been a stroke?_

            He moved on autopilot, his body maneuvering past the cheerful Russian to pull out the sour cream tucked away into the corner of the fridge. Yuuri stared at his hand after Viktor snatched the small tub. Now that his senses were coming back to him, the whole apartment was permeated with the warmth that came with cooking borscht.

            _How long was I out?_ Yuuri wondered, peering into the boiling pot of red mana. Borscht took _hours_ to make, especially Viktor’s version of it.

            “How are you feeling?” Viktor stepped up beside him and tilted Yuuri’s face, examining his forehead and nose. “It’s only a little bruised, but I was worried you had a concussion.”

            He felt his stomach flip a few times. Yuuri’s skin prickled where Viktor’s fingers rested. This couldn’t be real.

            “Why are you here?” He finally rasped out, throat rough with thirst. _How did you find me?_

            Viktor pulled away at the blunt question and Yuuri ignored the flash of hurt. “I finally find you and that’s what you ask?”

            “Wouldn’t you?”  Yuuri muttered, looking down. “It’s been years, we haven’t spoken- you don’t even have my number—”

            “And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Viktor chuckled but his eyes were sharp enough to make Yuuri regret his words.

            “Mine,” Yuuri admitted freely, “but I figured you’d take the hint.”

            Viktor flinched and Yuuri paused to wonder when he’d gotten so good at hurting this man.

            “I can’t believe you used to call me selfish.”

            “I can’t believe you still don’t know when to stop,” Yuuri threw back in Viktor’s face and watched the older man crumple. _Why can’t I just stop?_

            “Did I… what we did- was that why…?”

            “No,” Yuuri heaved a sigh, shaking his head, “sorry, I’m just… being terrible.”

            “I don’t disagree.” Viktor turned away to stir the food, lips pursed.

            “Viktor,” Yuuri bit his lip, “why are you here?”

            “I should be the angry one, you know,” Viktor’s head was down and he was stirring the borscht a little too hard, liquid sloshing tumultuously within the pot. “I should be the one being mean.”

            “What, bashing my face in wasn’t enough?” Yuuri joked, but it was cheap and unfitting. Viktor’s side eye proved it unsuccessful.

            “You’re terrible,” Viktor said finally.

            “…Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. _I’ve been shitty. I am shitty, took him long enough to realize_ , he thought with his usual self-deprecation.

            “You keep running and I keep trying, and I’m tired. I’m getting old, you know,” Viktor continued as the borscht’s waves slapped against the sides of the pot, nearly spilling over. Yuuri eyed the wooden spoon Viktor was stirring with cautiously.

            “You’re only twenty five.“

            “You remember my birthdays but you never called or anything. You left me alone in a godless country. You’re so _happy_ with your new friends and your new life and you just dropped me like a rock in the sea. I don’t dream when I sleep unless it’s to see your face, mocking me. Sometimes I skate and feel _nothing_. I’ve felt nothing for years.” Viktor’s voice wobbled and Yuuri felt panic in his throat the glassy eyed look on the man’s face.

            _Oh god, he can’t cry_ , Yuuri panicked, _Viktor never cries_.

            Viktor wasn’t supposed to ever cry, he was _Viktor_.

            “It can’t be all because of me,” Yuuri said softly, hesitantly reaching forward to brush Viktor’s hair away. He wasn’t surprised when his hand was slapped away. Viktor turned to him and threw the spoon away. It clattered onto the counter, splattering the marble with the red broth.

            “I know it wasn’t just because of you,” Viktor bit out, “but enough of it was. I had _no one_.”

            “That’s not true,” Yuuri protested. “You had Yakov. You had Mila and Plisetsky, and all the skaters, and Chris...”

            _It was me that had no one_ , Yuuri wanted to scream, _I’m the one that was alone_. He didn’t, though. He had isolated himself, there was no one else to blame.

            “I wanted _you_ , damn it,” Viktor’s face was mottled red with frustration, and his tears leaked freely. He rarely looked so distraught. Viktor’s crying face was usually stoic; he looked like an angel weeping over the sins of humanity (or some equally poetic drivel). But _this_ Viktor reminded Yuuri of nine-year –old Vitya (the one that threw tantrums when they had to leave the rink early, or when Yuuri didn’t want to play a game).

            How had they resolved those tantrums? Ah, right. Usually Yakov threatened to send Yuuri away if Viktor kept crying (but then Yuuri would start crying, so it ended up being a useless tactic). Other times, Lilia would punish them with remarkably bland food. Neither of those methods seemed applicable now. There always was the third option, the simplest one of them all (it wasn’t like Yuuri could make this situation any worse).

            “I’m sorry,” Yuuri offered the apology up. “I’m really, really sorry that I hurt you.”

            “You’re _sorry_?” Viktor huffed, sniffling petulantly. “I’m shocked.”

            “I’m not sorry that I left,” Yuuri amended.

            “I know you’re not. I’m not sorry you left, I just wanted to come with you!” Viktor rubbed at his eyes, trying to blink away the tears. Yuuri reached up and took Viktor’s hands in his, holding them gently.

            “You would have lost everything. No money, no sponsors, nothing. You were in a dry spell when I left, you hadn’t won gold since you were seventeen, and you needed to win. You would have been miserable.” He squeezed Viktor’s hands. “You belonged in Russia.”

            “I belonged with you,” Viktor argued, but it was a flimsy excuse. Objectively, they both knew that it had worked out for the best. Yuuri had watched as Viktor stumbled during jumps that he’d always excelled in, winced along with everyone when he’d flub a spin, and cheered the hardest when despite the mistakes he still managed to medal. Puberty had shifted Viktor into a man’s body quicker than anticipated and it had taken its toll. Yuuri hadn’t had much of that problem. His body’s puberty was gradual and gentle. His dancing had only slightly suffered at first, but it quickly found the advantages (thicker thighs and stronger muscles never hurt when it came to leaping into the air and twisting on the ground).

            Viktor pulled his hands away and frowned down at the borscht. He had a white-knuckle grip on the counter. It hurt to look at the aftermath of his decisions, but Yuuri refused to turn away. This was his fault (running from feelings, abandoning his lifelong friend-partner-everything after a night spent together, cutting off all contact, just to summarize “this”).

“Tell me to leave,” Viktor spoke again after a minute. “Tell me to never come back and I’ll go. I’ll forget you ever existed. I’ll throw away everything we had. Let me do the leaving for once.”

            He couldn’t quite describe the feeling that came with hearing those words from Viktor’s mouth. It was beyond a physical pain. It was like someone had dropped a boulder in his stomach, had elbowed him right in the chest, and then had taken his head into their hands and started squeezing slowly. Which was _stupid_ , Yuuri had been running for years. He’d already _left_ , so why the hell did it hurt so much to hear it from Viktor? It was for the best anyway.

            “I want you to…” Yuuri’s tongue felt like a brick.

            But _why_ did Viktor have to leave?

            Did Yuuri even want him to go?

            _Why would Viktor have to leave?_

            “Stay,” he choked out. “Please don’t leave me.”

            “ _Yuuri_.”

            Then Viktor was hugging him tightly, clutching him the way he always did (like Yuuri was a childhood comfort, like he was the favorite pillow or the only thing that mattered). He hugged back (he always did, his arms would revolt before he stopped hugging Viktor back). Every thought in his head reminded him of those horrific soap operas Yakov loved, a stereotypical love-struck nonsense that made him roll his eyes to the heavens (things like _this feels like coming home,_ and _keep me in your arms,_ and _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ ).

            “This doesn’t fix all the things,” Viktor murmured into Yuuri’s hair.

            “Nope.”

            “We have so much to do.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “And I’m still mad—”

            “Vitya?” Yuuri leaned back, quirking a brow up at the stubborn, bullheaded, nonstop train of a man.

            “Yes, Yuuri?” Viktor smiled sweetly.

            “Please stop talking,” He asked politely, to which Viktor blinked a few times. When he opened his mouth to speak once more, Yuuri slapped a hand over it. They both smiled and Yuuri could feel the soft lips curl under the skin of his palm. Before he could take away his hand, warned by the mischievous glint in those sea filled eyes, Viktor slobbered all over it. He jerked his hand away with a red face and a startled cry.

            “You’re so _gross_!”

            “Glad to see you worked on your sodium intake.”

***

            They’d made up, right? It was happily ever after…right _?_

 _Wrong,_ Viktor groaned, sprawled on the couch of Yuuri’s apartment. After they’d eaten and their tears had dried, it became obvious that they weren’t as good at improvising as they’d thought. Rather, Viktor was fine with getting on with things. It was Yuuri that was stalling. Sure, he hadn’t expected full frontal sex for hours on arrival, but at least a _kiss._ It was like any progress they’d managed four years ago had evaporated in thin air.  Chaste hand brushes, fluttering eyelashes, sudden embarrassed blushing- like he was meeting Yuuri for the first time.

            In some ways, he was. This Yuuri was different. The deprecation was still there (enough to make Viktor frown and poke at Yuuri to make him stop), but the pure hatred that had permeated the Japanese man’s youth had eased. Yuuri walked with his eyes straight ahead now. The biggest shock had been seeing the friendship with Phichit.

            _That was supposed to be me,_ he had thought jealously upon seeing Yuuri’s jovial interactions. Immediately he regretted the thought. Phichit wasn’t Viktor. Just as Chris hadn’t been Yuuri. Phichit offered the other something that Viktor couldn’t: pure friendship.  He watched him show Yuuri another Instagram picture.

            It was only because of Phichit that Viktor was even here.

            “You’re pretty quiet,” Phichit noted when Yuuri left to go use the bathroom.

            “Just catching up,” He offered a brief smile. In truth, he was exhausted. While he was an extrovert in certain cases, this had been a whirlwind of a day. If this was Russia, he would have gone for a drink. Or popped a bottle of Vodka from the cupboard and dissolved into careless giggles, but Yuuri would worry.

            Or would he? A flash of Yuuri’s sensuous and drunken dancing flashed in Viktor’s mind. Maybe Yuuri would join?  

            He scoffed at the thought, waving away Phichit’s curious look.

            “I didn’t realize you knew Yuuri so well,” Phichit piped up. “He’s usually touchy about letting people stay over.”

            “…What?” Viktor sat up. “I’ve known him since we were children.”

            It couldn’t be that Yuuri had kept it all a secret, right?

            “You mean he’s worshipped you like a hero for that long? I always thought the banquet was the first time you’d met in person,” Phichit rubbed his chin, oblivious to Viktor’s frown. “He used to record every one of your events. I think he has some of them still. And then he’d cheer so hard, I’d get jealous.”

            “Really?” It eased the sting of being hidden away from Yuuri’s life. So, Yuuri had taken on the role of a “fan” all these years? It was a startling thought, but it sent pleased tingles spreading from his core.

            “Oh yeah, you should see his- ack!” Phichit fumbled with the pillow flung at his head, a blushing Yuuri standing behind the couch. “Oh, was I not supposed to brag for you?”

            “No, you weren’t supposed to!” Yuuri sputtered, avoiding eye contact with a smug looking Viktor.

            “Yuuuuuri,” Viktor drawled, tilting his head to the side, “do you have a crush on me?”

            “You can go.” Yuuri muttered, “Makkachin can stay, but you go. Away with your face.”

            “But you _like_ my face, don’t you?” Viktor teased, resting his arms atop the couch.

            “He sure does, I think he has about twenty p- hey, ow! Stop hitting me with the pillow!” Phichit squawked, warded off by the plush object and Yuuri’s wrath.

            “The more you talk, the less likely that I’ll let you bring hamsters into this apartment,” Yuuri threatened as Phichit backed into his own room.

            “That’s just evil,” Phichit huffed, slowly shutting his bedroom door. Once it finally clicked shut, Yuuri’s shoulders slumped in relief.

            “But, but,” Viktor whined, “I wanted to hear more. Twenty what?”

            “I wasn’t joking about kicking you out, you know,” Yuuri glared. Viktor grinned impishly (they both knew Yuuri was joking).

            “Makkachin would cry. Isn’t that right, wouldn’t you cry?” Viktor twisted around to coo at the poodle. Makkachin’s tail wagged happily as he licked a long stripe up Viktor’s cheek.

            Yuuri walked around the couch and plopped next to Viktor, snorting when the poodle immediately flung himself at him instead. He couldn’t help the haughty look.

            “I think he’ll be fine,” He giggled when Viktor pouted and twisted away to sulk.

            “Nobody loves me and you all treat me so cruelly,” He complained, fiddling with a thread poking out of the couch arm.

            “That’s not true,” Yuuri protested, smiling when Viktor looked up with a hopeful expression, “At least Yakov will love you for the rest of your skating career.”

            “You’re horrible!” Viktor wailed, head drooping again. Yuuri laughed again, leaning over to run his hand down the other’s back. Four years and it was still so easy to fall into their familiar routine.

            For now, he’d willingly sleep on the couch. They could fix this, he knew they could.

***

            He was going to murder Viktor.

            “Up, up!” Viktor sang, his voice carrying through the locked door to Yuuri’s bedroom. “We need to go to the rink!”

            Yuuri curled into a tighter ball, pathetically clinging to his pillow. He couldn’t even muster a valid emotion beyond exhaustion and irritation.

            “Yuuuuri, I know you can hear me.”

            _Oh my god._

            “I’m not going to stop until you get up.”

            _Ice skating legend, Viktor Nikiforov, found dead in obscure apartment of dance student Yuuri Katsuki._ Yuuri grimly imagined the headline, staring at the blurry ceiling after he rolled onto his back.

            “Wake-“

            “I’m up!” Yuuri yelled back, voice hoarse _._

“Good. Phichit said you had class at eleven, and there’s some other skaters booked at nine, so now’s the best time to go for a run and practice. I’ll be in the kitchen with coffee!”

            “…What?” He slapped around for his glasses, squinting at his phone once they were on.

            _5:30 am_.

 

            “ _Viktor!”_

***

            While he hadn’t thrown any fists, he’d certainly glared Viktor into a crater when he finally crawled out of his room. The older skater had simply smiled brightly at him and silently slid over a mug of coffee.

            “Aren’t you competing too?” Yuuri’s panting was synched up with Makkachin’s as they jogged down the scenic route.

            “Yes, but I just won World’s, I get a two-month break before I start conditioning again.” Viktor hummed as he pedaled leisurely.

            “So why can’t _I_ wait until after my classes end?” Yuuri wheezed as he nearly tripped over a pebble. They were on mile seven already.

            “Because although you’ve kept in shape,” Viktor gave Yuuri’s jingling butt an appraising look, “you haven’t kept in _skating_ shape, though I can hardly complain.”

            Yuuri blushed darkly, ducking his head and running ahead (much to Viktor’s glee, it was a great view). He knew his body was voluptuous compared to Viktor’s chiseled muscles, but he hadn’t thought it would affect his skating _that_ much. He’d been certain that he was already at his competitive weight.

            He thought wrong.

 

            “What was that axel?” Viktor critiqued. “Even a _junior_ could do that cleaner. Again. And start working on your quads.”

            A second after his nitpicking, Viktor threw himself into his own quad flip, landing easily as usual. He didn’t want to get rusty, so he languidly practiced alongside Yuuri.

            Said Yuuri had to refrain from bashing his face into a wall. Viktor’s “coaching” style, if that’s what it could be called, was disastrous ( _“Mm…that’s not right.” “Why?” “You just did it wrong, I can’t put into words.” “Figure out how to before you say something then!”)._

            “Your Lutz is off balance.”

            “Try doing that axel again.”

            “No, no, don’t do _that_ with your arms- it’s too _eh_.”

            “ _Eh_?” Yuuri repeated incredulously. “Did you just call my choreography _eh_?”

            Viktor shrugged unapologetically. “Well, it is.”

            “You- it-…” Yuuri could feel his face turning red from a combination of shame and frustration. “You can’t just say _eh_!”

            “Why not?” Viktor blinked in confusion. “You get it, don’t you?”

            “ _No_ , I don’t get it!” He snapped. “I don’t get half of the things coming out of your mouth! It’s been _years_ since I’ve skated competitively. I need more information than just _eh_.”

            “Ah,” Viktor’s face went blank. “Maybe you need more coaching than I thought.”

            It stung to hear. He did need more coaching, which was why he had a coach named Celestino.

            “Yeah, maybe,” Yuuri bit out, swiveling on his heel and skating to the side of the rink. He ignored Viktor calling his name and put on his guards, exiting the rink shortly after. He still had some time before he his next class started. Maybe he could squeeze in some ballet time.

***

            _What was that about?_ Viktor wondered as Yuuri stormed off. He’d just been offering some advice, since when had Yuuri been so volatile about criticism?

            He furrowed his brow, skating lazy figures instead of returning to his own routines. Things had been steadily getting tense between him and Yuuri as the day went on. No doubt he’d return to an empty apartment (at least he had been given the spare key).

            There was only one way to solve this.

 

 

***

            “He hates me,” Viktor whimpered into the phone. “He hates me and I’m going to be kicked out and he’ll keep Makkachin because he likes my _dog_ more than me.”

            “ _Right._ ” Chris’ weary sigh trickled out of Viktor’s phone, _“So, showing up unannounced didn’t go as well as you thought it would?”_

            “I accidentally knocked him out and bruised his face,” Viktor admitted.

            “ _You’re a real prince charming, you know,”_ Chris laughed, _“I don’t know how the world hasn’t figured out how dumb you can be.”_

“You used to be one of them,” Viktor retorted, scowling at his Starbucks cup as he settled into the couch.

            “ _Yes, but thank gsod I’ve learned since then,”_ Chris teased, listening to Viktor’s grumbles for a few moments more before returning to the topic at hand. _“You have to woo Yuuri.”_

“We’ve known each other for over fifteen years, wasn’t the wooing happening automatically?”

            _“No, that’s not how it works.”_

            “But Taylor Swift...”

            _“Taylor Swift didn’t grow up with an orphan brother in a homophobic country. At least, I don’t think that’s what any of her music videos imply.”_

            Viktor groaned, tilting his head back.

_“Don’t whine, you should be excited. You finally get to date someone like a regular guy. Kind of.”_

            “Dating Yuuri will be anything but regular,” Viktor sighed. “Wooing Yuuri… Ah, but I can’t stuff him full of food, he needs to stay in shape for practice.”

            _“Stuff him full of food once a week, it’s not that crazy a concept. Cheat days exist for a reason, our dating lives can’t survive if we stick to meal plans at restaurants.”_

            “First, I’ll feed him,” Viktor said slowly, “then I’ll… Chris, I can’t do anything here! It’s _Detroit_.”

            _“Michigan has plenty of sights to see in a day. Don’t be elitist all because it isn’t rural Japan or Paris. It’s America. Once his classes are done you can take him on short trips all over.”_

“That’s true,” Viktor admitted, “I suppose I can think of something.”

            _“Don’t go overboard,”_ was Chris’ final warning before he ended the call.

            Viktor stared at his phone, rolling his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

***

            “Let’s go out this Saturday, I’m getting bored being alone all day while you go to class and work.” He made sure to time the request right at dinner. Yuuri was more amendable when there was food in his mouth.

            “You could always get a job, too,” Yuuri mumbled, avoiding the initial topic as usual.

            “Me? I suppose. But I’d rather be skating, or sightseeing. I’m in my off season and I’d rather not waste it.” _Just go out with me damn it._

            “That’s true,” Yuuri responded listlessly, spooning another portion of rice into his mouth.

            This was getting nowhere. Yuuri was purposely being obstinate and Viktor needed to urge this whole thing forward. He nudged his plate out of the way and leaned forward, trying to get Yuuri to look at him.

            “So?”

            “Hm?” Yuuri blinked, leaning back to maintain their distance.

            “This Saturday, you and me, doing things,” Viktor repeated slowly, trying his best to keep the exasperation from his voice.

            “Oh, Phichit and I were going to-“

            “Nope,” Phichit chimed in from where he was sitting on the couch, out of sight but not out of hearing range, “some plans just popped up. Sorry, I’m ditching you!”

            Yuuri’s back was to the living room but Viktor couldn’t help the relieved smile when Phichit sat up and winked at him. Thank god he had some help.

            “What? But…” Yuuri shrugged, “I guess we can do something, then.”

            “It’ll be fun,” Viktor grinned.

***

            “Um…Viktor?”

            “Yes?”

            “Is this…” Yuuri turned around slowly to take in the view, “an abandoned warehouse on private property?”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “And why…?”

            “Because I’m not perfect and we all make mistakes,” Viktor’s serene expression seemed more terse than usual, “and my GPS isn’t working.”

            “Ah.” Yuuri’s hand had a death grip on Viktor’s as distant gunshots echoed. “I’m going to die.”

            “Please don’t,” Viktor begged, looking a step closer to mania as he began walking around the warehouse. “Let’s just get out of here.”

            “I don’t remember how we got here,” Yuuri protested, “Why did we even jump the fence? Isn’t that a sign that we’re going in the wrong direction?”

            “Because it was spontaneous and fun!”

            “ _Fun_? You call this fun?!” Yuuri yelped as Viktor tugged him close suddenly, covering his mouth with his hand. His blue eyes were wide with warning.

            “Shh,” Viktor whispered, “someone’s here.”

            Yuuri wasn’t proud of the noise that came out of him at that, and he might have clung to Viktor tighter. This was embarrassing. It wasn’t like they were going to get mugged, or murdered, just from being in the worst part of town- right?

            One of the backdoors to the warehouse slammed open and Yuuri hid his face in Viktor’s neck. _Ob god, this is how I go: in the arms of Viktor Nikiforov in an abandoned warehouse in Detroit._

            “Yuuri,” Viktor murmured in his ear, laughter present in his voice.

            “Shh!” Yuuri jolted back to reprimand the other for being too loud, pausing when he noticed the new person standing beside Viktor. The bloodcurdling scream he let out echoed for several seconds (even the gunshots stopped, letting Yuuri have the spotlight).

            “It’s okay, it’s the photographer.”

            “ _What?”_ He growled, nearly hyperventilating as he shuffled back, “What do you mean, photographer? That’s not the kind of shooting that happens in this area, Viktor!”

            “Nah man, I’m a photographer. With a camera and everything. I do have a gun, but it’s for self-defense.” Yuuri stared at the girl in disbelief. Was that supposed to reassure him?

            “It was a joke! I planned a small photoshoot for us. We don’t have any recent pictures with each other, and it’s so rare to find an authentic grunge aesthetic-“

            “…Joke?”

            “Hm?”

            “This was all a joke?”

            “Of course! I’d never put you in danger on purpose,” Viktor smiled broadly.

            Yuuri’s lip curled and he opened his mouth to say something. Viktor reared back fearfully (I’m-going-to-cut-you-with-words Yuuri had a distinctive look). However, nothing came out. Instead, the Japanese man lifted a finger in warning before digging around in his backpack. His hands emerged with a bottle of water and a pill, which he downed immediately.

            “Um, are you-“

            “You better have brought the best vodka from Russia, because when we get back, I’m drinking _all_ of it.” Yuuri warned before throwing down his backpack and unzipping his windbreaker. “Let’s do this.”

            “Oh.” Viktor looked pleasantly flushed, “Yes, of course.”

***

            “A little to the left- perfect!”

            “Do you have to stand so clos- “

            “Yes.” Viktor interrupted, pressing even closer out of spite. Yuuri grit his teeth and thought of shriveled peaches and moldy bread in hopes that his dick would get the memo.

            “Great job. Uh, Viktor mentioned wanting to do a shot with him holding your legs in the “wheel barrel” pose?”

            “We’re skipping that,” Yuuri deadpanned.

            “But _Yuuri_ —”

            “We’re skipping it.”

***

            “Your…um, your hand is on my, um. That.”

            “Oh, is it?” Yuuri smirked, “would you look at that?”

            “Oh my.” Viktor wasn’t sure how to parse the self-confidence but it was making his body do strange things. He had a feeling that pill Yuuri chugged an hour ago had something to do with it, though. Was it Viagra, by any chance?

            “I don’t think you want me to take it off. Do you?”

            “Do I what?” Viktor’s mouth was dry as he struggled to wet his lips.

            “Want me to take it off?” He purred.

            “ _Yes—_ ”

            “Guys,” the photographer interrupted, “are we doing the awkward prom pose, or aren’t we? My shift starts in like, fifteen minutes.”

            “Oh, sorry.” They both looked equally chastised.

 

***

            “That was so much fun,” Viktor grinned, setting down his backpack as soon as they entered the apartment. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

            His comment was met with silence, so he turned to see what Yuuri was doing. He furrowed his brow at the pale sheen of Yuuri’s skin. “What’s wrong?”

            “I can’t believe I just did that,” Yuuri mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

            “Did what? Have the time of your life?” Viktor forced his voice to keep its flippant tone.

            “I’m sorry I touched you like that- I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got caught up in the moment and…” Yuuri’s rambling trickled to a stop, his eyes never lifting from the floor. Viktor watched him quietly.

            “I had fun,” Viktor offered, “and you touching me makes me happy.”

            Yuuri blushed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “You don’t have to make me feel better, you just wanted to take some brotherly pictures and I ruined it.”

            “… _Brotherly_ pictures?” Viktor choked out in disbelief, “since when do brothers prom-pose together?”

            “We didn’t go to prom, our schools didn’t even do prom,” Yuuri muttered.

            “Yuuri….My sweet, dense caramel pudding,” Viktor sighed, wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulders, “I don’t think brothers go on dates. Or spend hours holding each other in various poses in an abandoned warehouse. And since when have you ever called us brothers?”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuuri retorted defensively, tugging at Viktor stubborn arm.

            “The first time Yakov called us brothers you started crying because it meant you wouldn’t be able to marry me.”

            “That was _you_.”

            “No, it wasn’t!”

            “Yes, it was. I didn’t _cry_ , I went on strike and refused to eat dinner. You cried for thirty minutes and said you’d never leave your room.”

            “I was a kid!”

            “You were thirteen years old.”

            “Hormones,” Viktor huffed, looking embarrassed. Their faces were nearly touching at this point, both of them leaning in during the heat of their banter.

            Yuuri’s cheeks stung from the force of his fond grin, and a puff of laughter escaped him. Viktor jolted in surprise, glancing at the other before bashfully chuckling along with him.

            “We’re so dumb,” Yuuri snickered, not pulling away.

            “But we’re dumb together now and that’s all that matters.” He’d meant the statement innocently, but based on Yuuri’s stiffening figure it had been the wrong thing to say.

            Yuuri’s pained expression was enough for Viktor to regret opening his mouth.

            “Don’t, I’m sorry I ruined the moment but please don’t make it worse,” Viktor begged, not ready to give up the closeness they’d achieved for the day.

            “It’s nothing like that. I just wanted…” His mouthed twisted for a moment, “I wanted to apologize."

            Viktor took a step back when Yuuri turned to face him directly. “Apologize?”

            “I’ve been treating you like crap and making excuses about it.” Yuuri’s bluntness took him by surprise; he couldn’t help gaping at the determined Japanese man. “I left you behind _twice_. But you always made sure it didn’t end. You called, or reached out, and I was so ungrateful. I just hate how I can’t appreciate you and-”

            “No apologizing while hating yourself,” Viktor interrupted, swallowing a startled Yuuri into a tight hug, “you’re supposed to make me _happy_ when you apologize, not sad. I can’t forgive someone if they don’t know how to forgive themselves.”

            “But there is something to forgive?” Yuuri mumbled into Viktor’s chest.

            “I’m not a saint.” Viktor smiled gently, “I was hurt by what you did, and I sulk when I feel unwanted. This doesn’t erase what’s happened in the past, it just gives us something to build on. We’ve both grown since then, haven’t we?”

            Yuuri nodded quietly, relaxing into the other’s arms.

            “And it’s not true, what you said. It’s not just me doing all the work. I mean, I didn’t even know if you were still alive until the banquet.”

           

 

 

 

 

 

            “What?”

***

            Phichit stared at scene in front of him, phone prepped and taking pictures.

            “Yuuri, please!” Viktor begged, body pressed completely against the bedroom door, “let me in, it wasn’t that bad!”

            “I _pole danced_! I’m going to die, I want to die!” Yuuri’s gave a muffled wail and Phichit had to stifle a giggle. He didn’t do a good enough job and Viktor’s head whipped around to face him.

            “Should I give you guys some alone time?” Phichit offered hesitantly, backing up (phone still taking a video).

            “You didn’t tell him about the banquet,” Viktor hissed accusingly.

            “I thought he would spiral into a depression if I did,” He retorted. “He was miserable from the hangover and I kind of…forgot? It’s not like he checks Instagram.”

            He avoided eye contact when Viktor gave him a look of utter disbelief. “So you let _me_ deal with the fallout?”

            “I’m his best friend-“

            “Debatable!” Yuuri yelled through the door, startling them both.

            “-I’m his best friend, not yours.” Phichit finished with a bright smile as he backtracked. “I’m gonna go see what’s good outside, far away.”

            Before Viktor could protest, the front door was slammed and the wily Thai skater had escaped. _Damnit_.

 

***

            When he lifted his head of his misery cocoon it was dark outside. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted like fresh hell, so he could only assume his depression nap had been more than a few hours long. It was quiet in the apartment, Viktor and Phichit were probably in bed.

            _Viktor_.

            The thought of Viktor and all those strangers (with their judging eyes and their rich fingers and curled lips) seeing him strip and dance without a care made him sick to his stomach. He’d taken his anti-anxiety medication as soon as he’d felt the frantic edge begin in his chest.

            “I’m really never drinking again,” Yuuri mumbled to himself as he opened the door. Water was good though, his parched throat approved. He nearly slammed into the floor when his foot caught on something. He managed to right himself quickly, whirling around on the offending object and freezing when he saw Viktor’s slumbering form curled around Makkachin. It was both the cutest and most heartbreaking thing in the world.

            “Makkachin must be so uncomfortable,” he said to himself, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Still, he felt guilt at letting the man linger outside his door for so long. Yuuri knelt down and shushed the rousing poodle, running a hand down Viktor’s cool cheek. His heart fluttered against his ribs when Viktor smiled slightly and leaned into his touch. _Be still my anxious heart, holy shit_ , Yuuri mused, giving himself a few more seconds of petting Viktor before he decided it was time for the Russian to relocate to a bed. He’d let Viktor have his bed for tonight, it was only fair after the dramatic show he’d just put on.

            “Vitya,” he whispered softly, “go to bed.”

            “Mm…” Viktor made a grumbling noise that shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was.

            “Vityaaa,” Yuuri repeated, leaning in closer and nudging the other, “wake up- ack!”

            Viktor jolted awake and lashed out, luckily missing Yuuri’s face. The serene look on his face had vanished as his frantic blue eyes tracked around the apartment. Yuuri reached out to get his attention and grabbed Viktor’s shoulders gently. He tried not to feel hurt when Viktor flinched from his touch.

            “Are you alright? I was just trying to wake you up,” Yuuri asked with concern, not letting go. Makkachin snuffled at them both, having been rudely pushed out of his spot during Viktor’s rousing.

            “Yes,” Viktor licked his dry lips, hands lifting to rest atop Yuuri’s, “Weird dream.”

            “I was going to make some tea, did you want some?” He offered, helping the other up to stand. He’d rarely seen Viktor so shaken by a nightmare. Even when they were children, Viktor slept like the dead on most nights. Sometimes (on lonely nights) he’d crawl into Yuuri’s bed after a disturbing dream. Even then, he recovered quickly. This time, it didn’t seem so.

            Viktor followed after Yuuri listlessly, answering the offer by his actions rather than words. He plopped at the table and rested his chin on his hands, watching Yuuri move around the kitchen blearily.

            “I hope you don’t mind green tea. I found a really authentic Japanese shop that has the freshest leaves.” Yuuri rambled, setting the kettle on the stove after filling it with water and clicking on the heat. A few beats went by, only the sound of heating water and breathing filling the apartment. He turned to Viktor and went to the table, sitting across from him and taking a moment to examine in the other’s appearance.

            Viktor looked tired, which wasn’t surprising- he had a nightmare after spending hours on the cold floor.  Yuuri noted how slumped his shoulders seemed, how strained his eyes were, it served to remind him how human the silver haired man was. The constant guilt tried to emerge from his gut once more, but he shoved it down. Instead, he leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head at Viktor, ready to do more than just sit and stare.

            “That was a pretty bad dream, huh?”

            Viktor’s eyes were slow to rise but they settled on Yuuri’s face comfortably and lingered without pause. “Not the first time I’ve had it.”

            “Did you want to talk about it?” He asked hesitantly, not wanting to push Viktor.

            “You’d probably hate it.” Viktor huffed, shaking his head and looking away once more.

            “Well, yeah.” Yuuri blinked in confusion, “I’d hate anything that makes you so miserable.”

“What if it was a dream about you?” Viktor’s voice was subdued but the question still stumped Yuuri.

            “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said without thinking. What was he apologizing for? It wasn’t like he could control what Viktor’s brain did at night.

            “Yeah,” Viktor sighed wearily, rubbing his hands down his face, “is the tea almost done?”

            It was a diversion tactic. Yuuri let it go for now, Viktor was drained enough without adding another stressor. He stood up and grabbed the tea kettle before it could go off. He prepared their tea meticulously, sneaking glances at Viktor while he did so. The man hadn’t moved an inch, which was concerning.

            “Vitya, do you want—”

            “Could you not call me that right now?” Viktor asked abruptly, finally lifting his head completely. Yuuri nearly dropped the mugs, startled by the demand.

            “What?” He hated how his voice shook. He knew they had things to work out, but Viktor had never denied him the nickname. Had he finally gone too far? Was Viktor done with all of this? With _him_?

            Yuuri set down the mugs quickly to keep from spilling, his hands shaking slightly. Viktor sighed and took one, shaking his head.

            “It’s not because of tonight,” Viktor murmured, “I’d never hold a grudge for something like your anxiety.”

            “So, what did I…?” He didn’t finish the thought, preferring instead to burn his tongue on the green tea. He blamed his watering eyes on his singed mouth. _God, I’ve been crying so much lately, it’s really pathetic_.

            “It’s not _you_ , it’s this dream I’ve been having,” Viktor finally admitted.

            “Isn’t the dream about me?” Yuuri squinted.

            “Yes and no.”

            _Ugh, it’s like pulling teeth from a donkey._

            “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, we can just drink tea.”

            “It’s not that I have separation anxiety,” Viktor blurted out.

            “Uh…”

            “Sometimes Makkachin tears apart my pillows if I leave without reassuring him for twenty minutes. It’s ridiculous! He should know I’ll be back. There’s no way I’d just leave behind all my things and my apartment and disappear without a trace. I mean, aha, who even _does_ that?” Viktor clutched at his mug like a lifeline.

            _I have a feeling I know where this is going_ , Yuuri internally winced.

            “But I always reassure him. It’s not his fault he doesn’t understand, he can’t help feeling so scared. He’s just a dog, like a kid, but so much more helpless, so I always come back. I never felt that as a kid, there was no one to miss. What did it matter if someone left? They always did.”

            Yuuri watched Viktor’s eyes grow glassy with unshed tears and he reached out to set a hand on the other’s arm. The physical contact seemed to urge Viktor on.

            “And then suddenly it _did_ matter, because for once people weren’t leaving anymore. And when they don’t leave you start to get used to them. I kept waiting for someone to leave. I was ready to keep going on like nothing had happened. But you all stayed every year: you and Yakov, and even Lilia. After a decade and a half, is it any surprise that I forgot what being alone even was? I mean, even the _thought_ of you leaving was so absurd I didn’t consider it for a minute.”

            The tears were falling now and Yuuri tightened his grip on Viktor’s arm. He wanted to comfort the other more, to do something that wasn’t so static, but there was nothing. He lowered his eyes and kept on listening.

            “Then you left after all. You left me like some one-night stand. I woke up alone to a cold bed and no note. At first it was fine. I assumed you just had some errands to run. Then more days went by and I became like Makkachin. I couldn’t tear apart my own pillows, but I could cry and drink. And I kept waiting and waiting. Every night you weren’t there, my brain would remind me that the person I trusted the most had lured me into this- this false sense of security. You keep calling me _Vitya, Vitya_ , but you’re not there! You’re never there, you’re just a shell that I keep telling myself loves me. It’s so empty, and I feel so empty.”

            “I’m so, _so_ sorry.” Yuuri was by the other’s side immediately, wrapping him into the tightest hug he could manage. Viktor shuddered in his embrace and clung to him, burrowing his face in Yuuri’s chest. It felt like they were kids again, struggling to understand one another sufficiently but managing nonetheless. He stroked the other’s silver hair gently and let Viktor cry.

            “Don’t leave anymore, _please_.”

            “I won’t leave, I swear.”

           

***

            At some point, they relocated to the bedroom with their tea left forgotten on the table. He didn’t kick up a fuss when the other joined him in the bed, instead curling his body over Viktor’s protectively (the sight of Viktor’s cheek mushed against his chest had him feeling quite a way). It had been difficult to achieve when they were younger, but as adults they could offer themselves as equals.

            Minutes became hours and they still weren’t asleep. It was mostly Viktor’s fault (Yuuri could admit some blame). He’d been close to dozing off when he felt a finger trace down his cheek. When he cracked open an eye, Viktor smiled at him sheepishly. Viktor had shimmied up the bed to lay level with him, allowing their faces to rest inches from each other. Yuuri quirked a brow at him, flushing when Viktor’s other hand came up and his face was cradled gently.

            “I’m trying to sleep here,” Yuuri protested (he didn’t mean to sound as fond as he did).

            “Don’t let me stop you.” Viktor’s hands brought Yuuri’s face closer until their foreheads pressed together and their breath mingled. They couldn’t see each other, but Viktor tried his utmost, crossing his eyes and eliciting a laugh from Yuuri.

            “Can I kiss you?”

            The question took them both by surprise and his breath hitched. He could feel the air shift between them. _Did I just ask that? Holy shit I just asked that_.

            “We’re not the same people,” Viktor murmured, still soft, still reverent.

            “We’re better, I think.” Yuuri bit his lip nervously, barely able to hear over his thunderous pulse. “You don’t have to, I just really want to.”

            Viktor pulled away enough that their eyes could focus on each other once more. He searched for something with Yuuri, expression yearning. “You’ll be here in the morning?”

            “I’ll be here,” Yuuri promised, covering Viktor’s hands (clammy against the skin of his cheeks) with his own.

            They inched towards each other until their lips finally met. It was a soft current of a kiss, a smooth melding of their wants. It was a stark opposite to their first kiss years ago. Yuuri could feel everything: Viktor’s fingers dragging down to his shoulders, the press of their thighs, and the sting in his lungs from forgetting to breathe. It felt real.

            When the kiss came to an end he couldn’t help but smile at the quiet ‘pop!’ of their mouths parting.

            “Wow,” Viktor giggled airily.

            “Wow.” Yuuri agreed.

***

            “Glad to see you guys worked it out,” Phichit mentioned the next day.

            “How…?”

            “I have my ways.”

***

            They touched more often. One week passed and Yuuri reached for his hand when they took Makkachin on walks. Sometimes Viktor would press a chaste kiss to the other’s cheek when they were fiddling in the kitchen and Yuuri wouldn’t fumble as badly.

            Two weeks passed and Yuuri would sigh contently when Viktor flopped on top of him in bed.

            Three weeks passed and Viktor forgot what it was like not to have Yuuri by his side every morning.

           

 

            Then Yakov finally called.

***

 

            “I can’t leave, not now,” Viktor muttered, clutching the cellphone in his hand. “You don’t understand. I can’t go back, we’re getting better. _I’m_ getting better.”

            “ _You can’t afford to lose more training time_ ,” Yakov retorted, “ _Vitya, I understand that you’ve missed him. We all have. But he’s training with his coach and you’re just fooling around.”_

            “I am not ‘fooling around’. I’m helping him. I know what his body can take and I know what he’s capable of, more than any coach he could find.”

            “ _You’re not qualified to coach. Either drag him back here with you or say your goodbyes. You don’t have endless funds and luck. The sponsors are getting antsy, you’ve missed two photoshoots, and you haven’t organized an ice show since last year. Hurry up, or the world will move on without you.”_

It hurt to hear such blunt words, but that was Yakov’s way. Viktor hung up without another word and struggled to breathe.

            Makkachin nudged his hand and he immediately curled around his pet.

            “I keep forgetting that the world doesn’t stop when you’re happy,” He whispered. The poodle simply whimpered in response, nuzzling his hand. “I’m not letting it end again. We’re going to work this out, even if I have to Skype him morning and night.”

 

***

            “Any other toppings?”

            “Huh?” Viktor jolted out of his daze, frowning at the impatient teenager standing behind the counter. He felt an elbow poke in his side and turned to see Yuuri’s concerned expression.

            “You blanked out for a sec, did you want anything other than strawberries on your frozen yogurt?” Yuuri asked, offering an apologetic look to their server.

            “Yes- no, I mean, no. I’m fine. Sorry.” Viktor shook his head, reaching for his wallet. He was stopped by Yuuri, who gave him a bemused look.

            “I’m treating _you_ , remember? As thanks for the helpful tips at practice this morning?”

            Viktor just made another repentant noise and hoped his goofy smile would curb any concern his forgetfulness caused. Truth be told, he barely remembered anything from the morning. He’d been stuck inside his own head ever since Yakov’s brutal reminder of reality. It was too much to hope that Yuuri wouldn’t notice.

            They were each handed their small cups of dessert. Yuuri had finally met his physical goals, his body a sculpture of figure skating perfection. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have allowances, though.

            “What did you get? I wasn’t paying attention.” Viktor shoved his worries back and focused on the pleased man in front of him.

            “Cheesecake flavor with blueberries and mochi. I’ve been craving this for ages,” Yuuri sighed lovingly, slowly bringing his first bite up to his lips-

            Only to be interpreted by Viktor, who stole it away triumphantly.

            Yuuri’s gasp only made it better, and Viktor smacked his lips obnoxiously.

            “It’s delicious.” He giggled harder when Yuuri pouted at him aggressively. “You can have my first bite, if you’d like?”

            “You got original tart flavor with strawberries, I don’t think I’m missing out on much,” Yuuri sniffed, shoveling his actual first bite into his mouth. He melted immediately, sinking down in his seat and making a cacophony of pleased noises.

            Viktor didn’t think he could fall in love further, but there you go, Yuuri Katsuki was the master of proving him wrong. No amount of time or growth could dissuade the younger man’s love of food and it was incredibly comforting to see that. When they were younger, it had been difficult to find food that agreed with Yuuri’s taciturn stomach. It took time to adjust to the cuisine. They never succeeded at recreating the food Yuuri fondly remembered from Japan (they tried a few times, each time it resulted in something so foul that they were physically barred from the kitchen).

            “I could watch you eat every meal for the rest of my life,” Viktor mused.

            “Uh,” Yuuri flushed, blinking at Viktor a few times before snorting, “you say that now, but I hear it gets less enchanting after a decade.”

            “Those are just heartbroken reviews left by despondent souls lacking in their own Yuuri,” Viktor grinned.

            “I’m not so great,” Yuuri huffed, cheeks still heated as he stabbed at his yogurt. “Stop staring at me and eat your yogurt.”

            “But I might miss your next bite,” Viktor ate a dainty spoonful of his yogurt and leaned forward, licking his lips. “You always enjoy it so much, I can’t help but get a contact high.”

            “You’re so…” Yuuri shoved a heaping spoon of yogurt in his mouth to keep from finishing his thought. The dessert did its job and Yuuri’s eyelashes fluttered with joy at the round of flavors.

            Viktor mischievously tapped his lips, watching the other from under his lashes. “Say Yuuri, I have a request…”

            “Mm?” Yuuri was still working on his mouthful of frozen yogurt, unable to respond coherently.

            “Next time you take some of that cream in your mouth, could you moan my name instead?”

            Viktor gave his award-winning smile to a concerned mother staring at them as Yuuri choked and wheezed for the next thirty seconds.

             

***

            “Yuuratchka, that was _gorgeous_!” Viktor yelled as soon as Yuuri skidded to a halt. “I knew you could do a quad salchow in that combo.”

            “Thanks,” Yuuri smiled bashfully, skating up to where the silver haired skater was resting against the barricade. “I have another thirty minutes, right?”

            “Ah,” Viktor checked his watch, nodding, “another twenty-three minutes, actually. Why?”

            “I’ve been wanting to show you something. Here,” Yuuri riffled through his pockets before pulling out his phone, “could you play this?”

            “[This song](https://youtu.be/slHjkszSAKs)?” Viktor asked, curious. He squinted at it and read it aloud, “ _Ne me_ _quitte pas_?” _Don’t leave me_ , Viktor translated automatically in his head. It was a French song, not one he knew.

            “Play it. And don’t look away.” The intense look on Yuuri’s face kept Viktor from making a quip. He felt a thrilled shiver run down his spine and he nodded quickly. He hooked up Yuuri’s phone and let the song play, eyes immediately latching onto the other.

 

            It was a moment he would never forget, one he would desperately cling to even in his oldest years. The song itself was a soft thing, packed with emotions so tightly that each slide of Yuuri’s skates was thrumming with impact. The calm voice of a resigned woman flowed through the ethereal creature before him, one he hardly recognized as his Yuuri.

            There were hardly any jumps, it was mostly [step sequences](https://youtu.be/SGL2mB6-_UI). Gorgeous sweeps crippling with their beckoning requests. It was a torn duet of a dance: each stumble purposeful, the leaps lonesome, the masterful cry for completion that eluded. For the three minutes that Yuuri bared his soul, Viktor forgot that a world outside them lived.

            The surrealism of the situation struck Viktor. Here he was, leaning over the divide and watching Yuuri (the boy turned man that he’d been chasing for most of his life) begging him to remain by his side.

 _Leave you? I can’t even look away for a second_. His eyes stung but he refused to blink. He wouldn’t miss a second of this. Yuuri spun with the crescendo of the heavy words and Viktor’s heart leapt into his throat.

His fingers trembled as he reached down to pull off his skate guards. He inched onto the ice while the last whispers finished, not stopping himself from barreling into Yuuri’s still form. They went down onto the ice and he cradled Yuuri’s head to avoid ruining the moment with a concussion.

Their lips met before another word could be said. Yuuri’s fingers were digging into his back and his knees were stinging on the unforgiving ice. His watch ticked at him but it was miles away. Yuuri gasped and Viktor stole his breath.

 _I love him,_ _I love him, I love him_.

“Vitya,” Yuuri mumbled against his lips. Viktor pulled back enough to smile down at him. He looked gorgeous (sweaty and red-nosed, eyes dazed in a way only ice skaters could understand after the thorough melding with a program). “I think you liked it.”

“I know I did.” Viktor leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “I won’t leave you. I’d sooner tear my heart out and throw it into the ocean.”

“You watched Titanic again, didn’t you?” Yuuri teased fondly, reaching up to cradle Viktor’s face.

“Never let me go,” Viktor said seriously, but they both cracked a smile. _I can’t stop kissing him_ , he thought helplessly as he leaned down for more. He ended up showering the other in butterfly kisses, unable to handle the surge of affection.

“Mmf- as much as I like kissing you,” Yuuri bit his lip while trying to sit up, “I think my butt is going to get frostbite.”

“Not the butt,” Viktor gasped, pulling back immediately. They laughed together again, helping each other up slowly.

***

            Viktor made a whining noise and Yuuri dropped some unsalted popcorn into the other’s maw. They had both just showered (separately, despite Viktor’s request) and were completely relaxed. He hadn’t been following the plot after Viktor sprawled onto his chest and pushed him to lay down on the couch. He had enough freedom to prop his shoulders against the arm of the couch and drop popcorn into both their mouths.

            The AC sputtered pathetically and Yuuri prayed it would hold out for the rest of the night. He could only withstand this cuddling when their apartment maintained its frigid temperature. Even at night, the temperature was climbing up as Spring gave way to Summer. After four years he was minimally prepped for the seasonality of Michigan in comparison to the cool Russian climate. He didn’t expect Viktor to fare any better (and he wasn’t).

            Time was going by too quickly. He knew this thing with Viktor wasn’t forever but he wasn’t ready for it to end so soon. The sweet kisses and lingering touches were just perks to Viktor companionship. He’d forgotten the intense fulfillment that came with having a give and take support system beyond what he could ask of his friends. It had been difficult at first, opening himself up to a level beyond shame. With Phichit (with anyone, really) there was always a polite boundary of when he was becoming too much. Moments when requesting comfort or help came tinged with guilt, or were stifled instead, to avoid placing a burden on someone who had no duty to him.

            Not that Viktor had a _duty_ to him per se, it was more that Yuuri trusted him with his weakness. He knew it was a tradeoff that he could afford, to be the support when Viktor needed. He couldn’t explain the relief that came with realizing Viktor was by his side again. It wasn’t a toxic interdependence either (at least, not on his side of it). They had survived without each other, gone on with their lives as best as they could. Sure, it hadn’t been fun, sometimes miserable, but they managed. They’d proved a point no one asked for and it made their reunion that much more meaningful.

            Yuuri blinked away his thoughts when a gentle hand brushed his cheek, urging his attention back to the silver haired man on his chest. He smiled down at Viktor, leaning into his hand.

            “Yeah?”

            “You’re not paying attention to the movie,” Viktor mumbled. “What’s the matter?”

            “I love you,” Yuuri sighed, “so much.”

            “Wh...?” Viktor looked like he’d just been smacked upside the head, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

            “You had to have known, how could I not love you?”

            “We’re different people now and I…” Viktor clearly struggled to find words, “I just never hoped to... I didn’t think I’d hear it again. Not from you.”

            “Vitya, you deserve to hear those words a thousand times a day,” Yuuri said earnestly. “I can’t begin to tell you how many times you saved me from myself. You tried so hard for me, and you keep trying for me.”

            “You do the same for me,” Viktor twisted around and shuffled up, their chests now pressed firmly together. “I was alone before you came. I know you don’t remember how you got to the orphanage. But I can’t bring myself to regret that you were sent there.”

            Yuuri closed his eyes as the old scar of his past made itself known again. After all this time, he could still hear the lullabies his mother sang him. He could still feel the teasing pinches Mari would give. He could still taste the food. Their faces had faded from memory but his mind wasn’t kind enough to let him forget what he once had. They had been his family, his real family. Yakov and Lilia had never bothered with the pretense of a family. He’d known what he had and it wasn’t the picturesque family the other children had. He had two coaches, and a best friend. It was enough, though.

            When he opened his eyes to peer into Viktor’s glistening ones, he felt home.

            “I don’t regret it either,” he admitted, running his fingers through Viktor’s soft hair. “I miss them terribly. I think I still idolize what my family represented. You’re more than an idolization, you’re Viktor.”

            “What does that even mean?” Viktor laughed softly, still staring into Yuuri’s eyes like a love-struck fool.

            “It means you take too long in the bathroom,” Yuuri said, cupping the other’s face in both his hands. “It means you tear up over cheesy movies and you have the attention span of a gnat unless you’re obsessed. You hog the blankets and your toes are _so cold_ , like you dip them in ice water before you get into bed and—”

            “I can’t tell if these are good things,” Viktor mumbled.

            “— you take so many selfies that I hear the shutter sound of your camera in my dreams,” Yuuri finished, “I don’t think I could love you any other way.”

            “Isn’t this the part where you follow up with all my good parts?” Viktor cleared his throat, red as a cherry.

            “Nah,” Yuuri turned back to the TV screen with a smirk, “I’m saving that for an emergency.”

            “So cruel.” Viktor pressed his face into Yuuri’s throat.

            He choked on air when he felt a wet heat on his throat. Yuuri’s hands flew to Viktor’s shoulders.

            “Vik- _ohmygod_ ,” Yuuri whimpered when Viktor dragged his teeth up his skin again, eliciting an excited shiver.

            “Somehow,” Viktor purred against Yuuri’s jaw, “hearing all my unpleasant traits in your tender voice made me _very_ excited.”

            “I- I-…” He couldn’t speak, his tongue was refusing to cooperate. He tried to open his again, maybe to protest this line of action in the living room where Phichit could walk out his room at any second, but all that came out was “aahhhhmm” when Viktor decided to start grinding down.

            “You’re so fascinating,” Viktor moaned, nipping the shell of Yuuri’s ear, “one second you’re as confident as a stripper, and the next you’re a shy tease.”

            “Did you just call me a stripper?” Yuuri didn’t have time to dwell on the statement before his tank top was being shoved up and Viktor’s cool fingers were trailing up his chest. He jerked up, causing them to moan at the friction.

            “Don’t focus on that, focus on the fact that I can’t get enough of you,” Viktor’s voice took a rough edge towards the end and Yuuri wasn’t proud of how he quivered in response.

            _Did I seriously just quiver? Who even does that?_ Yuuri internally admonished, but his body continued being a damsel in Viktor’s hold. To be fair, they hadn’t gone beyond kissing- not since that frantic rub off session half a decade ago (the one that ended with Yuuri fleeing to America and forcing Viktor into a miserable fugue state).

            “We…are we seriously going to- we should, mm…bed.” _Gee, Yuuri, can you be any more articulate?_

            “Good idea!” Viktor sat up, a bright look on his face, “we need _stuff_ , after all.”

            “Could you not be so loud- put me down!” Yuuri scrambled as he was slung over Viktor’s shoulder like an unsexy sack of potatoes. His protests cut off when he felt a stinging nip to his left cheek and squeaked.

            “ _Vkusno!_ ” Viktor nuzzled the bitemark and pushed open Yuuri’s bedroom door, having an easier time now that Yuuri was stunned.

            Yuuri grunted when he was flopped onto the bed and was immediately covered by Viktor’s eager body. After he slipped off his glasses hestarted to catch on quicker tugging off their clothes before the older man could have a chance.

            “Wow,” Viktor grinned, sitting up and letting Yuuri tug at his sweatpants impatiently, “I like.”

            “Do you want me to...?” Yuuri trailed off, looking up and catching Viktor licking his lips hungrily. “Is that a yes?”

            _Finally, I have him at a loss for words_ , Yuuri snickered internally as Viktor gaped at him. The other nodded his head so quickly that Yuuri faintly worried about whiplash.

            “Yes please,” Viktor blurted, blushing when Yuuri tilted his head at the polite request.

            “I think I like you so submissive,” Yuuri mused, noting how his words affected Viktor, who squirmed and flushed in a way that spoke of new avenues to explore. But that would be for later.

            “Please,” Viktor gasped as Yuuri took him in his hand.

            Yuuri didn’t speak, he wanted to hear every noise that left Viktor’s mouth. It wasn’t his first time doing this, but it was the first time he really _cared_. He wasn’t a Casanova, but he’d had his flings (mostly drunken encounters at the peak of pride month partying). None of the encounters seemed relevant now, though.

            _I have Viktor’s dick in my hand_ , he thought faintly, _I’m about to give Viktor a blow job, holy shit_. He kept his outward appearance from reflecting his inner panic.

            _Well, let’s give it a go_.

 

            He swallowed Viktor down to the root and jolted when the man gave a startled cry. Yuuri choked a little, pulling back quickly and wiping away the string of spittle that followed.

            “Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, looking up at Viktor.

            “I almost came,” Viktor wheezed, blunt as ever in his shock. “I don’t think I can—”           

            “Oh, was that it? Then come, there’s no rush,” Yuuri shook his head before going back to what he was doing. Viktor didn’t have time to finish speaking before Yuuri took him in once more.

            “Yuuri- Yuuri, oh my god,” Viktor chanted breathlessly while Yuuri nearly gagged himself again.

            _Am I enjoying this too much?_ Yuuri wondered as he slurped down a mixture of Viktor’s precum and his own saliva. He squeezed his thighs together and tightened his other hand on Viktor’s hip to keep from reaching for his own dick.

***

            “Yuuri, ‘m not…fuck, _fuck_ ,” He threw his head back, his entire body pulsing when Yuuri’s fingers dug into his hips and forced his dick all the way in. He came so hard he so stars, he honest to god blacked out for a second. He could feel Yuuri swallowing his load, the sensation something that would haunt every wet dream for the rest of his life.

            “ _Vkusno_.” Yuuri’s voice was hoarse and sultry and Viktor’s dick gave a valiant twitch in response.

            _He’s a fucking porn star. He’s been a porn star this entire time. He was trained by the porn star monks in the rural Detroit warehouses and is now the embodiment of sex._ Viktor could barely control his thoughts, still blown ( _ha!)_ away by the best blowjob he’d ever had.

            “Don’t lie, it tastes horrible,” Viktor panted, barely keeping from sprawling onto the bed.

            “Yeah, but- it’s yours,” Yuuri said, so seriously that Viktor’s heart lurched and he tugged the other up for a thorough kiss. The other tried to pull away, protests at the ready. “W-wait, I just—”

            “It’s your mouth,” Viktor interrupted, nipping at Yuuri’s bottom lip, “and I plan to taste _all_ of your flavors.”

            “You’re ridiculous.” Yuuri shook his head, “and gorgeous. And sexy.”

            “And flattered,” Viktor quipped, leaning forward to steal another kiss. “You’re buttering me up, you haven’t gotten off yet, right?”

            “No, no that’s not…”

            “Just teasing, _zolotse_ ,” Viktor chuckled, reaching down to brush along Yuuri’s inner thigh.

            “I can see that.” Yuuri’s pout was too adorable. Viktor peppered a few more kisses all over his face (a habit he was forming whenever everything was too much).

            “Give me ten and I’ll show you that I can follow through. In the meantime...” Viktor pushed Yuuri down flat, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Yuuri peered up at him with utmost trust, fidgeting only slightly under his wandering gaze.

            “In the meantime?”

            “I’m going to show you how much you deserve _everything_.”

***

            He hadn’t known what to expect, maybe a reciprocated blowjob, or an intense make out session. Yuuri sure as _fuck_ hadn’t expected Viktor to bend him in half and press a kiss right on his hole.

            “Viktor!” He gasped, white noise crackling in his ears. He moved on autopilot when Viktor shoved his legs up further, a silent request for Yuuri to hold himself open. He complied immediately, barely remembering that air was a thing he needed, too absorbed in the sight of _Viktor Nikiforov_ spreading him and tonguing him open.

            He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life, alternating between the crown of Viktor’s head and the ceiling as he was speared by the other’s tongue, over and over. He’d never let anyone do this to him before, and suddenly he was grateful for his guarded sexual past. He couldn’t imagine letting anyone but Viktor doing this to him. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he barely found time to swallow it in between sucking in breaths.

            “If you could see yourself,” Viktor said, nuzzling Yuuri’s thigh and biting the soft flesh gently. “I don’t want you out of my arms ever again.”

            “Vitya, please,” Yuuri rasped, arching his back to present himself further. Any hint of shame he would have had was shoved to be dealt with later, he wanted Viktor’s mouth again. He wanted _anything_ , he was dying here. His stomach was smeared with precum and his ass was empty, this was his least ideal situation.

            “Tell me what you wa—” Viktor made a muffled noise of surprise when Yuuri let go of his right thigh to reach down and shove the silver haired man back between his legs. “Damn, okay.”

            Yuuri moaned as Viktor returned to what he was doing, now pressing a finger against his rim and stretching him cautiously. The small sting made him clench around Viktor’s tongue. Viktor was barely pulling away to look for the lube before Yuuri was digging one hand through his nightstand and tossing the bottle at his head.

            “Christ, you’re sexy like this,” Viktor whispered, pressing a finger inside once everything was properly slick.

            Yuuri only sighed in response, grinding into the other’s finger and planting both of his feet onto the mattress for leverage. He jolted when Viktor pressed into the tight bundle of nerves inside him, feeling the familiar tug in the pit of his stomach.

            “I’m so close, more, _please_.”

            Yuuri clawed at the bedsheets when Viktor complied by adding two more fingers immediately. It stung but his body took the fingers greedily, his muscles well relaxed under Viktor’s previous ministrations. His hips rocked against the fingers thrusting in him. Viktor pressed in knuckle deep each time, jabbing his prostate and driving him _insane_.

            “Vitya, _Vitya,_ ah- please, _please, please_ ,” Yuuri begged, his entire body shaking with exertion.

            His brain kind of broke when Viktor leaned up and gave his dick a hard suck. Yuuri let out a punched-out noise, releasing into Viktor’s mouth with a final shudder. _I’m so… that was… so nice._

            He was still coming off his high when Viktor nudged his legs farther apart and settled between them. Yuuri blinked away his sluggishness and look up at the other for a split second before he felt the hardened length poke at the back of his thigh.

            “Oh, has it been ten minutes?”

            “I’d like to think longer, I was down there a while,” Viktor grinned. “Think you can go another round?”

            “Well,” Yuuri glanced down at his half hard dick. It was honestly trying its best and Yuuri had to stifle a laugh, “I have the stamina, you just have to last longer than two minutes.”

            “Don’t be so snide, you were just begging me to fingerbang you, love.” Viktor leaned back to avoid Yuuri’s halfhearted swat.

            _I can’t believe we’re still bickering when he’s about to be inside me._

            “Condom?” Yuuri sat up slightly, ready to riffle through his drawer. He paused when Viktor shook his head, quirking a brow. “Safe sex is sexy, Vitya.”

            “I’ll wear one if you want but, um,” Viktor blushed and shrugged slightly, “I’m clean, I was tested before I came here. And I trust you. It’s up to you.”

            “A-ah. I see.” They stared each other for a moment, their faces equally red, “…I mean, I don’t mind.”

            “Hm?”

            “I’m clean, too, so.” Yuuri nervously shifted, looking at anything but Viktor’s face.

            “Yeah?” Viktor tilted Yuuri’s face to his, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Then, I’m going in.”

            _He’s such a dork_ , he thought in amusement. His inner mind temporarily shut off when he felt the press of Viktor’s flared head at his entrance, sinking in slowly. It only smarted a bit, especially with the generous lube and saliva smoothing the way. Knowing there wasn’t a single barrier between them now had Yuuri’s dick up and running faster than he thought possible. _My refraction period is weak to Viktor, who would have guessed._

There was hesitance keeping Viktor from going all the way. Yuuri wriggled impatiently before wrapping his legs around the other’s hips, pulling him in.

            Viktor gasped and slapped his hands down on either side of Yuuri’s head, staring down at the other wide eyed.

            “Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, tilting up to speak in the other’s ear.

            Viktor nodded slightly to indicate he was listening, body stock still.

            “I want you to raw me till I can’t remember how to walk,” Yuuri paused, tacking on a polite, “please.”

            Viktor gaped at him and his arms shook like they were about to collapse. Yuuri thought he heard the other whisper, “holy shit”, but his mind was preoccupied with how Viktor reared back and slammed into him.

            He felt fuller than ever, afraid to open his mouth in fear that he’d ramble his pleasure. Every time Viktor dragged out it felt like his entire body clenched for him to return. It was shocking that Viktor could pull out at all with Yuuri’s thighs keeping a death grip on his hips. Every thrust was finished with a slow grind.

            Yuuri didn’t know what he was doing. His body was moving on primal instinct at this point. His hips rolled up to meet Viktor’s, his inside clenched every few seconds, his skin prickled where it met the other’s. It was so intensely unconscious, the way his body moved with Viktor’s, that he felt like a possessed man thriving off someone else’s pleasure.

            Viktor was leaving sloppy kisses along his neck and chest, sucking marks into his skin and making it hard for Yuuri to think. He arched his back and wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, tugging him up for a filthy kiss to silence the whimpers that were beginning to spill form his lips.

            They were getting close. Yuuri licked into Viktor’s mouth and tasted his own bitter seed. He jerked back to moan when Viktor drove into his sensitive prostate again. He could feel the press of Viktor’s smirk against his cheek. He didn’t have time to dwell on it as Viktor adjusted his angle and began consistently fucking into him right _there_.

            “Fuck- fuck, Vitya, _nii-san!”_ Yuuri wailed, his hand unable to reach between their flushed bodies to bring himself off. He could only rely on the friction of Viktor’s firm abdominal muscles and the cock ramming into him. His fingers clawed down the other’s back in his desperate state and Viktor groaned shakily.

            “Yuuri, I love you, I love you so much, fuck,” Viktor jerked in a few times more before the other was filled with his seed, pressed in so deep that Yuuri forgot what it felt like not to have Viktor inside him. It took two strokes after feeling Viktor come in him before he was coming too, splattering their chests. Their bodies pulsed together with aftershocks for a second and Viktor collapsed on top of him.

            “That was. Christ.” Yuuri couldn’t trust his mouth to say anything else, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d gotten his brains fucked out of him.

            “Nn…”

            “You alive?” Yuuri nudged the other off him slowly, hissing when he felt the other slide out of him. Viktor patted him weakly, his hand limply falling away shortly after.

            “Barely.” Viktor slurred, eyes lidded. Yuuri sat up slightly, smiling down at the exhausted man.

            “I’ll get us a towel.” He began getting out of bed, but was stopped by Viktor’s hand gripping his wrist.

            “Nooo…stay here, cuddle me,” Viktor pouted.

            “Viktor, I have to- um,” Yuuri shifted, blood rushing to his face with embarrassment, “clean your- um. The stuff out.”

            “I was literally just inside you, how are you shy again?” Viktor asked in awe, grinning when Yuuri ducked his head. He pulled the other down into his arms, kissing Yuuri’s heated cheek. “Stay with me, please? I’ll clean you up in a bit, I promise.”

            “This is a kinky thing, isn’t it?” Yuuri deadpanned.

            “Just a little,” Viktor hummed, covering them in a blanket as he shifted them into a spooning position.

            “Any other kinks I should know about?” Yuuri joked, pressing back into Viktor’s warm embrace.

            “Mm…not that I can think of yet. Any that I should know?” Viktor pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s ear, “because I’m pretty sure you called me “brother” during sex.”

            “Oh my god,” Yuuri wanted to die from embarrassment, “it was a slip of the tongue.”

            “No, no, what I did between your legs was a slip of the tongue. What you said was a _kink_ ,” Viktor grinned, “you totally get off on the forbidden love thing, don’t you?”

            “Shh- just, shhhh,” Yuuri hid his face with a hand, his shame nearly unbearable.

            “Don’t worry, let big brother take care of- ow! Yuuri!” Viktor pouted, rubbing his ribs after Yuuri kindly elbowed him.

            “If I’m not about to orgasm, it’s disturbing.” Yuuri huffed.

            “Of course, that’s about ninety percent of sexual kinks.”

            They snickered together for a few minutes more before sleep pulled them in. Yuuri drifted off with Viktor’s quiet breathing in his ear.

***

            Morning light roused Viktor from his deep-rooted sleep and he turned away with a grumble. The cold bedsheets were refreshing on his heated skin but he jolted awake anyway. He reached out in front of him, but found nothing, or rather, no one.

            _Not again_.

            He scrambled up, chest heaving with a beginning panic.

            “Yuuri?” His voice cracked. The room was empty.

            _He’s gone. Fuck, he’s gone, he’s gonehe’sgonehe’sgone-_

“Vitya, did you want an egg white shake or cooked with spinach?” Yuuri asked, poking his head into the room.

            Viktor visibly deflated, collapsing back onto the bed with a half-choked sob. Yuuri rushed to his side, running a hand down his cheek in concern.

            “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” He asked frantically.

            “No, no. It’s stupid,” Viktor huffed as Yuuri wiped a stray tear from his eye.

            “It’s not stupid if you’re so upset, what’s wrong?” Yuuri asked gently.

            “I thought you left again,” Viktor gulped, “I just panicked. I told you it was stupid.”

            “It’s not stupid,” Yuuri repeated, “it’s not your fault that I hurt you. I should have woken you up before I left the bed. I just had to go clean up and I forgot. I’m sorry, I love you, and I’m here.”

            Viktor sat up suddenly, engulfing Yuuri in the tightest hug he could manage. The younger man squeaked but let himself be pulled into Viktor’s lap for the impromptu cuddle session.

            “I never want to leave.” Viktor closed his eyes, “I never want to leave.”

            “Vitya?” Yuuri blinked a few times, waiting for more of an explanation.

            “I hate that we always have our big revelations after sexual encounters,” Viktor mumbled.

            “Um.” _Well he’s not wrong._

            “Yakov called me and I need to go back soon.”

           

           

           

            “Is that all?” Yuuri tilted his head, blinking at the other.

            “What?” Viktor jerked back to frown at Yuuri. “What do you mean, ‘is that all’? It’s horrible, are you telling me you don’t even care?”

            “I already knew you were going back. It’s not the end of the world,” Yuuri soothed, biting his lip to keep from laughing at Viktor’s distraught expression.

            “But…”

            “It was only a matter of time. You’ve been here for over two months, you haven’t progressed as far as you could have if you had your own coach. We still have to work, both of us.” Yuuri smoothed the furrow between Viktor’s brows. “But, we both have Skype and phones, and the internet is pretty great.”

“The internet _is_ pretty great,” Viktor admitted.

“We’re also competing against each other, you know,” Yuuri added, “so we’ll meet at the major competitions. And we can train at each other’s rinks in the meantime.”

“Stop making sense,” Viktor demanded.

“No,” Yuuri giggled when he was punished with a nibble to his neck, swatting at Viktor slightly, “we need to have breakfast. Then we can talk about the details.”

“Mm, oh!” Viktor jolted up and smiled excitedly, “what if you go back with me to Russ—”

            “No,” Yuuri interrupted, “I’d rather not.”

            Viktor visibly deflated.

            “I like my life here and I want to finish my first year here. I can’t leave Celestino before I win a single medal. He gave me a pretty big discount for his coaching fees. Plus,” Yuuri couldn’t help his smirk, “I can’t give a hundred percent at practice if I can’t walk straight.”

            “Yuuri!” Viktor gaped. “I’d restrain myself.”

            “That doesn’t mean I would,” Yuuri shrugged innocently. “But that’s beside the point.”

            “What is the point? Sad Russians skate better?” The silver haired man grumbled.

            “ _No_ , the point is that long distance relationships aren’t the end of the world.” Yuuri squawked when Viktor pinned him to the mattress out of nowhere.

            “Relationship? You want to, I mean… We can be official? I can call you my boyfriend?” Viktor asked, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm.

            “Well, yeah. As if I’d let the world think that Viktor is a free bachelor,” Yuuri scoffed, not bothering to hide his territorialism. “I don’t know how the Russian government is going to take it, though.”

            “Eh,” Viktor waved it off, “they need me too much to do a thing. At worst, they’ll call our relationship a slander campaign and label it a strong friendship.”

            “I hope so,” Yuuri shook his head, “but I’m not going to hide this anymore. I’m done being ashamed of my feelings for you. We deserve everything.”

            Viktor tilted his head and smiled down at him gently. “Yeah, we do.”

           

_FIN_

_(for now)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot harder for me to write!! 
> 
> Gad, and I keep wanting to change things. It's so hard to be satisfied with anything I make, haha. Thank you so much for your kind comments! They were one of the main reasons I was able to complete this work (it's the biggest work I've ever made, and finished!)
> 
> Anytime I feel its too ridiculous, I remember that that they had Yuuri possessed by a squid demon and cured by "love". SO. 
> 
> And don't look at me after that smut, I can't write any sex seriously. I can't even be sexual in real life without laughing, how can I write about it without being a dork the entire time.
> 
> Hope ya'll like it! Sorry if there's a bunch of grammar issues. I didn't have time to look through this as thoroughly!
> 
> Stay tuned for future sequels/short stories in the series! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some of the art I made to support the story:  
> [Couch Scene ](http://sourwoif.tumblr.com/post/162736884163/vitya-yuuri-panted-muscles)  
> [Sketch Dump](http://sourwoif.tumblr.com/post/162836384848/a-sketch-dump-of-yoi-comp-of-domestic-fanfic)
> 
> I will be uploading art eventually as well. I'm on tumblr as sourwoif.tumblr.com if you'd like to come visit!


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